FROM   THE   LIBRARY   OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON   THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


/Y353 


THE 


>  JAN  181936^ 


Women  of  the  Gospels 


The  Theee  Wakings, 


A1TO   OTHER 


Poems 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Mrs.  EliiouWth   RunA\e.  Cho/rles 


NEW    YORK : 

PUBLISHED    BY    M  .     W.    1 )  0  D  D 
No.    5  06    BROADWAY. 


1867 


CAKD  FEOM  THE  AUTHOE. 


"The  Author  of  'The  Schonberg-Cotta  Family ' 
wishes  it  to  be  generally  known  among  the  readers 
of  her  books  in  America,  that  the  American 
Editions,  issued  by  Mr.  M.  W.  Dodd,  of  New 
York,  alone  have  the  Author's  sanction." 


NOTE  BY   THE  PUBLISHED 


The  volume  of  Poems  here  offered  to  the 
public  has  been  arranged  by  the  Author  ex- 
pressly for  publication  in   this   country. 

In  addition  to  what  has  previously  appeared 
under  the  title  of  "The  Three  Wakings,"  this 
volume  contains  Poems  furnished  to  us  in  man- 
uscript especially  for  it,  and  many  others  not 
before  published  in    America. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Introduction — To  our  American  Cousins,  9 

PART     I. 

<TSf>e  JJUoiTiei]  of  the  Sogpcls. 

ministry, '.  .  15 

Mary  the  Mother  of  our  Lord — 

1.  Age  after  age  has  call'd  tliee  bless'd, 18 

2.  Not  for  thyself  thy  motherhood, 20 

3.  The  strongest  light  casts  deepest  shade, 22 

4.  Thou  shalt  be  crown'd,  0  mother  blest, 24 

Mary  Magdalene — 

1.  Her  home  lay  by  that  inland  sea, 26 

2.  No  phantoms  thus  her  soul  assail'd, 28 

3.  He  suffer'd  her  with  Him  to  stay, 31 

4.  The  Sabbath  that  could  bring  no  rest, 35 

5.  "  My  Lord,"  though  dead,  yet  still  "  my  Lord," .  37 

6.  A  moment  since,  a  sepulchre, 09 

7.  Tell  all  the  world  the  Lord  is  risen, 41 

Salome — 

She  knew  not  what  for  them  she  sought, ...  43 

The  Widow  of  Nain — 

Thy  miracles  are  no  state  splendors, 45 


VI  CONTENTS. 

The  Syropiienician—  pagb 

Content,  she  takes  the  lowest  place, 48 

The  Sisters  of  Bethany— 

.   What  hope  lit  up  those  sisters'  gloom, 49 

2.  Mary,  the  only  glory  sweet, 62 

3.  What  joy  to  live  beneath  the  eyes, 53 

The  Unnamed  Women — 

1.  The  hand  that  might  have  drawn  aside, 

2.  She  bathed  His  feet  with  many  a  tcai 58 

3.  "  He  turned  to  Her."     All  eyes  beside 00 

4.  He  prized  her  love,  He  held  it  dear, 82 

5.  Forgiveness  may  then  yet  be  mine, 04 

G.  He  clothes  thy  soul  in  spotless  dress, 

The  Two  Alabaster  Boxes — 

1.  When  Thou,  in  patient  ministry, 63 

2.  Love  is  the  true  economist, 70 


PART    II. 

JS)c  Jtyee  iUMiigs,  &c,  &c. 

The  Three  Wakings, 73 

The  Golden  Age  in  the  Present, 96 

The  Poet's  Food, 102 

A  True  Dream, 107 

The  Alpine  Gentian, 110 

The  Forget-me-not, 113 

To  a  Bedbbbast 118 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

PAGK 

Canticum  Solis, 122 

Nature  no  Self-acting  Instrument, 127 

On  the  Grave  op  a  Faithful  Dog, 128 

A  Journey  on  the  South-Devon  Railway, 131 

The  Three  Trances, 135 

On  the  Death  of  the  Prince  Consort.  .   149 


PART    III. 

&C. 


Batons 


The  Way,  The  Truth,  and  the  Life, 159 

The  Pathways  of  the  Holy  Land, 162 

Veiled  Angels, 165 

The  Word  of  Life, 168 

Not  Grudgingly,  or  of  Necessity, 171 

Durable  Riches, 173 

The  Cruse  that  Faileth  Not, 175 

Only  that  the  Sun  is  Coming, 178 

The  Fold  and  the  Palace, 181 

The  Two  Reproaches, 185 

Suggested  by  the  Prometheus  Bound 187 

Eureka, 189 

The  Gospel  in  the  Lord's  Supper, 191 

On  a  Baptism, 194 

New  Year's  Hymn, 190 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

Sunday  Evening  Hymn, 198 

Eably  Rising  Hymn, 201 

Sowing  in  Tears, 204 

Tin:  Well  at  Sychar, 206 

Song  for  an  Infant  School, 208 

All  Live  unto  Him, 211 

Waiting, 213 

A  Sick  Child's  Dream  of  Heaven, 215 

To  One  at  Rest, 219 

"He  Saved  Others," 988 

Marah  and  Elim, 386 

"  Come  and  See," -20.) 

"  My  Strength  and  my  Heart  Faileth," 232 

Rest  for  the  Heavy  Laden, 334 

"  It  is  I ;  be  not  Afraid," 339 

God  is  Love, 241 

"  Summer  in  the  Soul," 243 

The  Cross, 346 

The  Child  on  the  Judgment  Seat, 248 

TALiTnA  Cqmi, 35S 

Gethsemane, 359 

The  Two  Accusations, 388 

How  doth  Death  speak  of  our  Beloved? 265 

In  Memory  of  the  Rev  J.  D.  Burns, 270 

It  is  no  Dream, 374 


INTRODUCTION. 


TO    OUR    AMERICAN    COUSINS. 

One  people  in  our  early  prime, 

One  in  our  stormy  youth ; 
Drinking  one  stream  of  human  thought, 

One  spring  of  heavenly  truth  ; 

One  language  at  our  mother's  knee, 
One  in  our  Saviour's  prayer, — 

One  glorious  heritage  is  ours ; 
One  future  let  us  share. 

The  heroes  of  our  days  of  old 

Are  yours,  not  ours  alone ; 
Your  Christian  heroes  of  to-day 

We  love  them  as  our  own. 


10  TO    OUR    AMERICAN    COUSINS. 

There  are  too  many  homeless  lands, 
Far  in  the  wild  free  AVest, 

To  be  subdued  for  God  and  man, 
Replenished  and  possest ; — 

There  are  too  many  fallen  men, 
Far  in  the  ancient  East, 

To  be  won  back  to  truth  and  God. 
From  cramping  bonds  released  ;  — 

There  is  too  much  good  work  to  do, 
And  wrong  to  be  undone ; 

Too  many  strongholds  from  the  foe 
Yet  must  be  forced  and  won  ; — 

That  we  whom  God  hath  set  to  be 
The  vanguard  of  the  fight, 

To  bear  the  standard  of  his  truth. 
And  to  defend  the  right, 


TO   OUR  AMERICAN    COUSINS.  11 

Should  leave  the  mission  of  our  race, 

So  high  j  and  wide,  and  great, 
On  petty  points  of  precedence, 

To  wrangle  and  debate ; — 

That  blustering  words  of  little  men, 

(With  poisonous  venom  rife,) 
Who  must  be  angry  to  be  heard, 

Should  stir  us  up  to  strife. 

Nay  !  side  by  side  in  East  and  West, 

In  wild  or  heathen  lands, 
One  prayer  upon  our  hearts  and  lips, 

One  Bible  in  our  hands. 

One  in  our  earliest  home  on  earth, 

One  in  our  heavenly  home, 
We'll  fight  the  battles  of  our  King, 

Until  his  kingdom  come. 

London,  March,  1862. 


PART   I. 

THE   WOMEN  OF  THE   GOSPELS 


WOMEN  OF  THE  GOSPELS, 
MINISTRY. 

The  Son  of  man  came  not  to  be  ministered  unto,  but  to  minister." 

Since  service  i$.  the  highest  lot, 
And  all  are  in  one  Body  bound, 

In  all  the  world  the  place  is  not 

Which  may  not  with  this  bliss  be  crown' d. 

The  sufferer  on  the  bed  of  pain 
Need  not  be  laid  aside  from  this, 

But  for  each  kindness  gives  again 
"  This  joy  of  doing  kindnesses." 


The  poorest  may  enrich  this  feast ; 

Not  one  lives  only  to  receive, 
But  renders  through  the  hands  of  Christ 

Richer  returns  than  man  can  give. 


16  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 

The  little  child  in  trustful  glee, 

With  love  and  gladness  brimming  o'er. 

Many  a  cup  of  ministry 

May  for  the  weary  veteran  pour. 

The  lonely  glory  of  a  throne 
May  yet  this  lowly  joy  preserve. 

Love  may  make  that  a  stepping  stone. 
And  raise  '"I  reign"'  into  "I  serve." 

This,  by  the  ministries  of  prayer. 

The  loneliest  life  with  blessings  crowds, 
Can  consecrate  each  petty  cave. 

Mate  angels'  ladders  out  of  clouds. 

Nor  serve  we  only  when  we  gird 
Our  hearts  for  special  ministry  ; 

That  creature  best  has  ministered 
"Which  is  what  it  was  meant  to  be 


MINISTRY.  17 

Birds  by  being  glad  their  Maker  bless, 
By  simply  shining  sun  and  star ; 

And  we,  whose  law  is  love,  serve  less 
Bj  what  we  do  than  what  we  are. 

Since  service  is  the  highest  lot, 
And  angels  know  no  higher  ♦liss, 

Then  with  what  good  her  cup  is  fraught 
Who  was  created  but  for  this  ! 
2* 


18  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 

I. 

MARY  THE  MOTHER  OF  JE 

'•  All  generations  shall  call  me  blessed." 

Age  after  age  has  called  thee  bless" d, 
Yet  ndf?e  hath  fathoin'd  all  thy  bliss ; 

Mothers,  who  read  the  secret  best, 
Or  angels, — yet  its  depths  must  miss. 

To  dwell  at  home  with  Him  for  years, 
And  prove  His  filial  love  thine  own  ■ 

In  all  a  mother's  tender  cares 

To  serve  thy  Saviour  in  thy  Son. 

To  see  before  thee  day  by  day 

That  perfect  life  expand  and  shine. 

And  learn  by  sight,  as  angels  may, 
All  that  is  holy  and  Divine  ! 


MARY.  19 

Well  may  we  heap  thy  blessing  up 
From  age  to  age,  from  land  to  land, 

Since  Christ  Himself  that  brimming  cup 
Gives  to  the  lowliest  Christian's  hand, 

The  measure  of  a  blessedness 

Yet  by  that  measure  unexpress'd ; 

Sealing  the  Mother's  joy  with  "  Yes" 

The  Christian's,  with -His  "  rather  b/ess'd." 


•2 J  TIIE    WOMEN'    OF   TIIE    GOSPELS. 

IT. 
THE  MARRIAGE  AT  CAXA. 

"  Yea,  rather  blessed  are  they  who  hear  the  word  of  God  and  keep  it* 

Not  for  thyself  thy  motherhood, 

Nor  for  thy  home  that  life-stream  springs ; 

For  thee,  then,  too,  the  higher  good 

Must  come  through  death  of  lower  things. 

The  village  home  so  sweet  to  thee, 
"With  joys  so  hallow'd  and  complete, 

For  Him  no  Father's  House  could  be, 
No  limit  for  thy  Saviour's  feet. 

The  will  long  meekly  how'd  to  thine 
Now  calmly  claims  its  sovereign  place. 

And  takes  a  range  of  love  Divine 
Thy  mortal  vision  cannot  trace. 


MARY.  21 

On  us  that  mild  reproof  falls  cold, 
The  words,  and  not  the  tone,  we  hear  ; 

On  thee,  who  knewest  Him  of  old, 
It  casts  no  shade  of  doubt  or  fear. 

For  thy  meek  heart  has  read  Him  true, 
And,  bowing,  wins  His  " rather  bless  d." 

" Whatever  He  saith  unto  you,  do" 
Embracing  as  its  rule  and  rest. 

Then  through  earth's  ruins  heav'n  shines  bright : 
The  widest  sphere,  the  dearest  home, 

Save  that  where  Christ  is  Lord  and  Light, 
Were  but  at  last  the  spirit's  tomb. 

Thus,  laying  down  thy  special  bliss, 

Thou  winnest  joy,  all  joy  above, 
The  endless  joy  of  being  His, 

And  sharing  in  His  works  of  love. 


11  THE    WOMBS    01   THE    00 

m. 

THE  CROSS. 

'•  Now  there  stood  by  the  Cross  of  Jesus  His  mother." 

The  strongest  light  casts  deepest  shade. 

The  dearest  love  makes  dreariest  1 
And  she  His  birth  so  bless'd  had  made 

Stood  by  Him  dying  on  the  cross. 

Yet  since  not  grief  but  joy  shall  he 
The  day  and  not  the  night  abide. 

And  all  time?s  shadows,  earthward  cast, 
Are  lights  upon  the  "  other  side  ;" 

Through  what  long  bliss  that  shall  not  fail, 
That  darkest  hour  shall  brighten  on  ! 

Better  than  any  angel's  "  Hail!" 
The  memory  of  "  J  J-  hold  thy  S 


MART.  23 

Bless'd  in  thy  lowly  heart  to  store 

The  homage  paid  at  Bethlehem, 
But  far  more  blessed  evermore 

Thus  to  have  shared  the  taunts  and  shame. 

Thus  with  thy  pierced  heart  to  have  stood 
'Mid  mocking  crowds  and  own'd  Him  thine, 

True  through  a  world's  ingratitude, 
And  own'd  in  death  by  lips  Divine. 


24  THE    WOMEN    OF    TIIE    GOSPELS. 


IV. 

THE  CROWN. 

Thou  shalt  be  crown'd,  0  mother  blest. 
Our  hearts  behold  thee  crown'd  e'en  now  ; 

The  crown  of  motherhood,  earth's  best. 
O'ershadowing  thy  maiden  brow. 

Thou  shalt  be  crown'd.  More  fragrant  bays 
Than  ever  poet's  brows  entwine, 

For  thine  immortal  hymn  of  praise. 
First  Singer  of  the  Church,  are  thine. 

Thou  shalt  be  crown'd.  All  earth  and  heaven 

Thy  coronation  pomp  shall 
The  Hand  by  which  thy  crown  is  given 

Shall  be  no  Btranser's  hand  to  thee. 


MART.  25 

Thou  shalt  be  crown'd,  but  not  a  queen ; 

A  better  triumph  ends  thy  strife : 
Heaven's  bridal  raiment,  white  and  clean, 

The  victor's  crown  of  fadeless  life. 

Thou  shalt  be  crown'd,  but  not  alone, 

No  lonely  pomp  shall  weigh  thee  down, 

Crown'd  with  the  myriads  round  His  throne, 

And  casting  at  His  feet  thy  crown. 
3 


26  TIIE    WOMBS    OF   THE    G0SFELS. 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 

I. 

Her  home  lay  by  that  inland  a  !  i 
Which  sacred  memories  so  embalm ; 

That  Magdala  and  Galilee 

Ring  like  the  music  of  a  psalm. 

Deep  in  the  lake  the  far  hills  glow, 
Clear  shine  each  peak  and  golden  spire, 

And  Ilermon  lifts  his  brow  of  snow 
Unsullied  to  that  sky  of  fire. 

From  point  to  point  gleam'd  cities  white, 
Full  of  the  joyous  stir  of  life, 

And  o'er  the  waves  boats  bounded  light : 
All  was  with  eager  movement  rife. 


MARY   MAGDALENE.  27 

Fresh  streams  across  Gennesaret  danced, 
Laughing  with  corn  and  countless  fruits, 

And  met  the  quiet  waves  which  glanced 
Bathing  the  oleander  roots. 

Yet  many  a  calm  recess  for  prayer 

Those  hills  enshrined  which  circling  stood, 

Wild  steeps  which  to  men's  homes  brought  near 
The  sanctity  of  solitude. 

But  vainly,  round  her  and  beneath 
Earth  pour'd  her  wealth,  as  evermore 

Flows  Jordan  to  the  Sea  of  Death, 
And  leaves  it  bitter  as  before. 


28  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 


"Out  of  whom  He  cast  seven  devils." 
II. 

No  phantoms  thus  her  soul  assail'd. 

It  was  no  vision  of  the  night, 
No  dim  unreal  mist,  that  veil'd 

The  glad  reality  of  light ; 


No  discord  of  sweet  strings  unstrung 
A  skilful  touch  might  tune  again, 

No  jar  of  nerves  too  tightly  wrung. 
Xo  shadows  of  an  o'erwrought  brain ; 


But  din  of  mocking  voices  rude, 
Spirits  whose  touches  left  a  stain. 

Owning  no  shrine  of  solitude 

Their  blasphemies  might  not  profane. 


MAKY   MAGDALENE.  29 

Real  as  the  earth  she,  hopeless,  trod, 
Real  as  the  heaven  they  had  lost, 

Real  as  the  soul  they  kept  from  God, 
From  torture  still  to  torture  toss'd. 

Thus  sleep  to  her  could  bring  no  calm, 
No  stillness  dwelt  for  her  in  night, 

And  human  love  could  yield  no  balm, 
And  home  no  deep  and  pure  delight. 

Till  light  upon  that  chaos  broke, — 
Not  from  unconscious  azure  skies.— 

The  morning  that  her  spirit  woke 

Beam'd  from  the  depths  of  human  eyes. 

No  thunder,  with  God's  vengeance  dread, 

Scattered  that  company  of  hell ; 

It  was  a  Voice  from  which  they  fled, 

A  Voice  they  knew  before  they  fell. 
3* 


30  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 

Once  more  she  was  alone  and  free. 


And  silence  all  her  soul  possess'd  : 
As  the  "  great  calm"'  the  storm-toss'd  sea 
When  the  same  voice  commanded  i 

Such  solitude  a  heaven  might  make, 
Such  silence  had  for  bliss  sufficed  : 

V»'hat  waa  it.  then,  from  hell  to  wake. 
And  wake  beneath  the  smile  of  Christ ! 


MARY    MAGDALENE.  31 


III. 

1  And  certain  women  which  had  been  healed  of  evil  spirits  and  infirmities, 
Mary  called  Magdalene,  ....  which  ministered  unto  Him  of  their 
substance." 

He  suffered  her  with  Him  to  stay — 
This  crowning  joy  was  not  denied — ■ 

To  hear  His  voice  from  day  to  day, 
And  tread  this  earth  still  by  His  side. 

Where,  with  a  diadem  of  snow, 

The  white-wall'd  cities  crown' d  the  rocks, 
Or  peasants'  dwellings  far  below, 

Couch'd  round  the  fountains  like  their  flocks. 

She  saw  the  expressive  glance  of  sight 
The  dulness  of  blind  eyes  replace  ; 

When  learning  first  the  joy  of  light, 
For  the  first  sight  they  saw  His  face. 


32  THE   WOMEN   OF   Till:    (JOSPHUa. 

She  heard  the  first  clear  accents  pour 
From  dumb  lips,  uttering  His  name ; 

She  saw  men's  homes  from  shore  to  shore 
Break  into  sunshine  where  He  came. 

She  saw  the  long  possess'd  set  free. 

She  knew  the  anguish  and  the  blifi 
She  saw  the  baffled  Pharisee, 

And  felt  "Man  never  spake  like  this.'"' 

She  heard  reluctant  fiends  confess 
The  Godhead  they  had  fain  denk 

She  saw  the  little  children  press 
With  fearless  fondness  to  His  side. 

She  saw  the  speechless  joy  that  i 
Light  up  the  widow's  face  at  Nain ; 

She  never  saw  one  sent  aw 

She  never  heard  one  plead  in  vain 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  33 

She  saw  Him  faint  and  wearied  sore. 
And  toil  those  gracious  eyes  bedim, 

Thirsting  and  hunger' d,  homeless,  poor, 
She  saw  and  minister'd  to  Him. 

She  saw  His  brow  its  light  regain, 

And  strength  reknit  each  wearied  limb, 

All  to  be  spent  for  man  again  : — 
A  woman's  service  succor' d  Him  ! 

And  are  those  days  forever  o'er  ? 

Must  earth  be  of  that  joy  bereft  ? — 
The  sighs  and  sounds  are  here  no  more, 

And  yet  the  very  best  is  left. 

Still  may  we  follow  in  His  way, 
And  tread  this  earth  as  by  His  side, 

May  see  Him  work  from  day  to  day, 
As  in  His  presence  we  abide. 


34  THE   WOMEN   OF   IH]  ELS 

See  Him  shed  light  on  darkened  ey 
The  bow'd  and  fetter'd  heart  set  free  : 

May  succor,  serve,  and  sacrifice. 

And  hear  from  heaven  His  "  unto  Me." 


MARY   MAGDALENE.  35 


IV. 


"The  first  day  of  the  week  cometh  Mary  Magdalene  early  while  it  was 
yet  dark  unto  the  sepulchre." 


The  Sabbath  that  could  bring  no  rest. 
The  weary  day  at  length  had  fled  : 

What  Sabbath  could  again  be  blest 

Since  He  who  promised  rest  was  dead  ? 


The  guilty  world  was  hushed  in  gloom, 
Night  on  its  sleeping  millions  lay 

Like  the  "great  stone"  upon  His  tomb — 
What  if  it  never  rolled  away ! 

But  o'er  her  path  there  fell  a  shade 

No  darkness  from  her  heart  could  hide  : — 

The  tomb  in  which  the  Lord  wa3  laid 
Was  near  the  cross  on  which  He  died. 


36  THE    WOMEX    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 

Beneath  that  cross  she  stood  again  : 
The  tortured  form  no  more  she  saw ; 

His  murderers  were  religious  men, 
Xor  dropped  one  letter  of  the  law ; 

His  cry  of  agony  might  smite 

Strange  discord  through  their  measured  prayer, 
And  who,  when  death  those  lips  made  white. 

Could  silence  the  reproaches  there. 

Thus  earth  among  the  spheres  moved  on, 
And  calmly  kept  her  ordered  course, 

Bearing  the  cross  of  God  the  Son, 
And  in  her  heart  His  lifeless  corpse. 

Xor  yet  was  blotted  out  of  space, 
Nor  yet  the  brand  of  Cain  doth  bear, 

Because,  through  His  surpassing  gi\ 

That  cross  pleads  not  "  Avenge,"  but  {-  Spare." 


MARY   MAGDALENE.  37 


V. 

M  They  hare  taken  away  my  Lord." 

11  My  Lord,"  though  dead,  yet  still  "  my  Lord  :,: 

Prophet  through  love's  tenacity, 
Powerless  to  hope,  she  yet  adored, 

And  felt  the  truth  she  could  not  see. 

If  He  who  in  Himself  had  shone 

All  that  God  is,  all  man  may  be, 
Living  the  truth,  else  guessed  by  none 

Through  years  of  patient  ministry ; 

He  from  whom  life  and  peace  she  drew, 

Whom  she  had  follow'd  day  by  day, 

And  worshipp'd  more,  the  more  she  knew. 

Could  fade  to  cold  unconscious  clay ; 
4 


38  THE    VTOMEX    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 

If  that  pure  life  of  p  irfect  love, 

Extinguished  never  more  should  beam, 

What  joy  could  endless  days  above 
Bring  ever  more,  not  bringing  Him  ? 


What  were  those  angel-forms  to  her, 
Their  raidiant  forms  and  raiment  white, 

If  dead  within  a  sepulchre, 

He  lay,  Himself  the  Life  and  Light? 


Thus  when  the  bridge  of  faith  was  rent, 
Which  could  have  firmly  spann'd  the  gulf, 

Love  prostrate  o'er  the  chasm  leant, 
And  bridged  the  dark  abyss  herself. 


MARY   MAGDALENE. 


VI. 


'  Je6us  saith  unto  her,  "Mary.     She  tnrned  herself  and  Baith  unto  Him 
Rabboni,  which  is  to  say,  Master." 


A  moment  since,  a  sepulchre 

Was  all  the  world  she  cared  to  own, 

An  empty  tomb,  vain  balms  and  myrrh, 
Tears  with  no  heart  to  shed  them  on. 

And  now  the  living  Lord  was  there, 
Immortal,  glorious,  yet  the  same  ; 

The  voice  the  fiends  once  fled  in  fear 
Now  spoke  the  old  familiar  name. 

No  language  could  that  bliss  have  told. 
She  had  no  words  the  joy  to  greet ; 

She  said  but  "  Master !"  as  of  old, 
And  rested  silent  at  His  feet. 


40  THE   WOMEN   OF   THE    006FBUL 

Yet  all  heaven's  choirs  could  scarcely  twine 
A  music  more  profound  and  bi 

Than  when,  as  from  His  heart  to  thine. 
Thus  ••  Mary  !"'  and    -Raboni  !r'  meet. 


MARY   MAGDALENE.  41 


VII. 

"  Go  quickly  and   ell  His  disciples  that  He  is  risen. 

Tell  all  the  world  the  Lord  is  risen — 
The  Easter  message,  ever  new; 

The  grave  is  but  a  ruin'd  prison, — 
Invisible,  the  Life  breaks  thiough. 

Earth  cannot  long  ensepulchre 

In  her  dark  depths  the  tiniest  seed ; 

When  life  begins  to  throb  and  stir, 
The  bands  of  death  are  weak  indeed. 

No  clods  its  upward  course  deter, 

Calmly  it  makes  its  path  to  day ; 

One  germ  of  life  is  mightier 

Than  a  whole  universe  of  clay. 
4* 


42  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    QOSPELa 

Yet  not  one  leaf-blade  ever  stirr'd, 
Busting  earth's  wintry  dungeons  dim, 

But  lived  at  His  creative  word. 
Responsive  to  the  life  in  Him. 

Since,  then,  the  life  that  He  bestows 
Thus  triumphs  over  death  and  earth ; 

"What  power  of  earth  or  death  can  c 

The  Fountain  whence  all  life  has  birth? 

And.  as  ths  least  up-springing  grain 
Breathes  still  the  resurrection  son_\ 

That  light  the  victory  shall  gain. 

That  death  is  weak,  and  life  is  strong; 

So  with  immortal  vigor  rife, 

The  lowliest  life  that  faith  has  freed. 
Bean  witness  still  that  Christ  is  life. 

And  that  the  Life  is  risen  indi 


SALOME. 


"She  saith  unto  Him,  Grant  that  these  my  two  sons  may  sit,  the  one  at 
Thy  ri°cht  hand,  and  the  other  on  the  left,  in  Thy  kingdom.  But  Jesus 
answered,  Ye  know  net  what  ye  ask." 


She  knew  not  what  for  them  she  sought, 
At  His  right  hand  and  left  to  sit ; 

How  great  the  glory,  passing  thought 
How  rough  the  path  that  led  to  it. 

They  knew  not  what  of  Him  they  ask'd, 
But  He  their  deeper  sense  distill'd ; 

Gently  the  selfish  wish  unmask'd, 
But  all  the  prayer  of  love  fulfill' d. 

Pride  sought  to  lift  herself  on  high, 
And  heard  but  of  the  bitter  cup  ; 

Love  would  but  to  her  Lord  be  nigh, 
And  won  her  measure  full,  heaped  up. 


44  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 

With  vision  of  His  glory  bless'd, 
Stood  on  the  m  i  mi  kin  by  His  side, 

Lean'd  at  the  Bnpper  on  His         it, 

Stood  clos3  beneath  Him  when  He  died. 

One  brother  shared  His  cup  of  woe, 
second  of  His  martyr-band  ; 
One.  by  His  glory  smitten  low, 

Rose  at  the  touch  of  His  right  hand. 

Thus,  when  by  earth's  cross  lights  perplex'd, 

We  crave  the  thing  that  should  no- 
God,  reading  right  our  erring  text. 
Gives  what  we  would  ask.  could  we  ae 


THE  WIDOW  OF  NAIN. 

Thy  miracles  are  no  state  splendors, 
Whose  pomps  Thy  daily  works  excel ; 

The  rock  which  breaks  the  stream,  but  renders 
Its  constant  current  audible. 

The  power  which  startles  us  in  thunders 

Works  ever  silently  in  light ; 
And  mightier  than  these  special  wonders, 

The  wonders  daily  in  our  sight ; 

Rents  in  the  veils  Thy  works  that  fold, 
They  let  the  inner  light  shine  through  ; 

The  rent  is  new,  the  light  is  old, 
Eternal,  never  ever  new. 


46  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 

And,  therefore,  when  Thy  touch  arrests 

The  bearers  of  that  bier  at  Nun, 
Warm  on  unnumber'd  hearts  it  rasl 

Though  jet  their  dead  live  not  again. 

And  Thy  compassionate  M  Weep  not  !" 
On  this  our  tearful  earth  once  heard. 

For  every  age  with  comfort  fraught. 
Tells  how  Thy  heart  is  ever  stirr'd. 

Nature  repeats  the  tale  each  year, 

She  feels  Thy  touch  through  countless  springs. 
And,  rising  from  her  wintry  bier. 

Throws  off  her  grave-clothes,  lives  and  sings. 

And  when  Thy  touch  through  earth  shall  thrill. 

This  bier  whereon  our  race  is  laid. 
And.  for  the  first  time  standing  still. 

The  lon£  procession  of  the  dead 


THE   WIDOW    OF   NAIN.  4Tt 

At  Thy  "  Arise  !"  shall  wake  from  clay, 
Young,  deathless,  freed  from  every  stain  ; 

When  Thy  "  Weep  not !"  shall  wipe  away 
Tears  that  shall  never  come  again  ; 

When  the  strong  chains  of  death  are  burst, 
And  lips  long  dumb  begin  to  speak, 

What  name  will  each  then  utter  first  ? — 
What  music  shall  that  silence  break  ? 


THE  SYROPHEXICIAN. 

"Gre:it  i=  thy  (ail 

Context,  she  takes  the  lowest  place. 

He  knows  what  strain  her  faith  will  bear : 
Low  in  the  valleys  flows  His  grace, 

He  does  but  gently  lead  her  there. 

Then  in  the  depths  to  her  He  comes. 
And  meets  her  nothing  with  His  all. 

Creation  lives  upon  the  crumbs 

Which  from  that  Master's  table  fall : 

But  thou.  0  faith,  not  thus  art  fed  ! 

For  thee  the  heavenly  homes  are  built ; 
Thy  portion  is  the  children" s  bread, 

And  'Be  it  to  thee  as  thou  wilt." 


THE  SISTERS  OF  BETHANY. 

When  He  heard,  therefore,  that  he  was  sick,  He  abode  two  days  still  In 
the  same  place  where  He  was." 

I. 

What  hope  lit  up  those  sisters'  gloom, 
When  first  they  sent  His  help  to  crave, 

So  sure  that,  hearing,  He  would  come, 
And,  coming,  could  not  fail  to  save. 


Counting  the  distance  o'er  again, 

Deeming  Him  near,  and  yet  more  near, 

Till  hope,  on  heights,  she  climb'd  in  vain. 
Lay  frozen  to  a  deathlike  fear. 

Watching  with  twofold  strain  intent 
The  expected  steps,  the  failing  breath, 

Till  hope  and  fear,  together  spent, 
Sank  in  the  common  blank  of  death. 


50  THE    WOMEN    OF   TI1E    GOSPELS. 

"  Beyond  this  burning  waste  of  hills. 

Beyond  that  awful  glittering  - 
'Mid  those  blue  mountains  lingering  still. 

Have  our  faint  prayers  not  reach'd  to  Thee? 

"  Or  are  the  joys  and  griefs  of  earth 
To  Thee,  whose  eyes  survey  the  whole, 

But  passing  things  of  little  worth, 
That  should  not  deeply  stir  the  soul?'" 

His  tears  ere  long  shall  hush  that  fear 
For  every  mourning  heart  forever  : 

And  we,  who  now  His  words  can  hear 
Beyond  the  hills,  beyond  the  river, 

Enow  that  as  true  a  watch  He  kept 
On  those  far  heights,  as  at  their  side. 

I    eliog  the  tears  the  sisters  wept, 
Marking  the  hour  the  brother  d 


THE   SISTERS   OF    BETHANY.  51 

No  faintest  sigh  His  heart  can  miss 
E'en  now  His  feet  are  on  the  way 

With  richest  counter- weight  of  bliss 
Heap'd  up  for  every  hour's  delay  , 

That  nevermore  should  hope  deferr'd 

Make  sick  the  heart  which  trusts  in  Him, 

But  nourish'd  by  His  faithful  Word, 
Grow  brighter  still  as  sight  grows  dim. 


52  THE   WOMEN   OF   THE   GOSI'EL.S. 


She  hath  done  what  she  could.  Verily  I  say  unt  i  you.  Whereso- 
ever this  gospel  shall  be  preached  throu  *hout  the  whole  world,  this  also 
that  she  hath  done  shall  be  spoken  of  for  a  memorial  of  her." 


II. 


Mary,  the  only  glory  sweet 

To  any  Christian's  heart  is  thine  ! 

Hidden  beside  the  Master's  feet, 
Lost  in  that  dearer  light  to  shine : 

Whilst  evermore  the  heart  obeys 
The  sermon  of  thy  listening  looks. 

Learning  religion  from  thy  gaze 
Better  than  from  a  thousand  books. 

Thy  silence  is  His  sweetest  psalm. 

While  from  His  lips  thy  name  distils, 
And,  dropping  like  thy  precious  balm. 

Ever  His  house  with  fra granoe  fills. 


THE   SISTERS   OF   BETH  AST.  53 


"  Martha,  Martha,  thou  art  careful  and  troubled  about  many  things; 
but  one  thing  is  needful,  and  Mary  hath  chosen  that  good  part,  -which 
shall  not  be  taken  away  from  her." 


III. 


What  joy  to  live  beneath  the  eyes, 

Which  look'd  the  spirit  "  through  and  through," 
Which  penetrated  each  disguise, 

And  would  not  let  us  be  untrue ; 

Yet  through  the  thickest  veil  descried 

The  little  spring  of  good  below, 
And  pierced  the  icy  crust  of  pride, 

That  happy,  humble  tears  might  flow  ; 

Rending  each  soft  disguise,  which  spares 

The  evil  thing  by  gentle  name. — 
For  sinners  founts  of  pitying  tears, 

But  for  the  sin  unquenched  flame  ; 


54  THE   WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPEL- 

That  saw  the  very  spot  within 

On  which  to  lay  the  healing  touch ; 

That  had  no  pity  for  the  sin, 

Because  for  those  who  sinn'd  so  much  ; 

That  mark'd  through  Peter's  boast  his  dread, 

Yet,  by  his  curses  unperplex'd. 
Look'd  through  them  to  the  lisrht,  and  read 

The  traces  of  the  earlier  text ; 

Beneath  the  black  i:I know  Him  not." 

"  T/iou  knowest  I  love  Thee''  still  could  trace, 

In  graven  characters  inwrought, 

No  darkest  stains  could  quite  efface : 

That  knew,  through  all  vibrations  fix'd. 

The  true  direction  of  the  will, 
Saw  self  with  Martha's  service  niix'd, 

And  love  in  Mary's  sitting  still. 


THE   SISTERS   OF   BETHANY.  55 

Those  eyes  still  watch  us,  not  from  far, 

Still  pitying  "look  us  through  and  through," 

And  through  the  broken  sketch  we  are, 
Foresee  the  heavenly  likeness  true  ; 

Through  all  its  soft  and  silken  dress 

The  creature  of  the  dust  descry, 
Yet  'neath  the  shapeless  chrysalis 

The  Psyche  moulding  for  the  sky. 


THE  UNNAMED  WOMEN. 

I. 

The  hand  that  might  have  drawn  aside 
The  veil ?  which  from  unloving  sight 

Those  shrinking  forms  avails  to  hide, 
"With  tender  care  has  wrapped  it  tight. 

He  would  not  have  the  sullied  name 
Once  fondly  spoken  in  a  home. 

A  mark  for  strangers'  righteous  blame, 
Branded  through  every  age  to  come. 

And  thus  we  only  speak  of  them 
As  those  on  whom  His  mercies  meet. 

"She  whom  the  Lord  would  not  condemn."' 
And  "she  who  bathed  with  tears  His  £ 


THE   UNNAMED    WOMEN.  57 

Trusted  to  no  evangelist. 

First  heard  where  sins  no  more  defile, 
Read  from  the  Book  of  Life  by  Christ, 

And  consecrated  by  His  smile. 


58  THE   WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 


n. 


And  stood  at  His  feet  behind  Him  weeping,  and  began  to  wash  His  feet 
with  fa 


She  bathed  his  feet  with  many  a  tear. 

Feet  wearied  then  for  us  so  oft : 
She  wiped  them  with  her  flowing  hair. 

Embalmed  with  reverent  touches  soft. 

She  knew  not  of  the  bitter  way 
Those  sacred  feet  had  yet  to  tread. 

Nor  how  the  nails  would  pierce  one  day 
Where  now  her  costly  balms  were  shed. 


She  read  the  pity  in  his  eyes. 

To  peace  transmuting  her  despair  : 
She  could  not  read  what  agonies 

Must  cloud  the  heaven  she  gazed  on  there. 


THE   UNNAMED   WOMEN.  59 

He  praised  her  love,  her  sacrifice, 

But  breathed  not  what  His  own  must  be, 

Nor  hinted  what  must  be  the  price 
Which  made  her  pardon  flow  so  free. 

Then  if  her  love  and  gifts  were  such, 
Who  little  knew  the  depths  of  His  ; 

If  then  indeed  she  u  loved"  Him  "much" 
How,  since  she  knows  Him  as  He  is  ? 


GO  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 


in. 


"  He  turned  to  the  woman.' 


u  He  turned  to  her.''     All  eyes  beside — 
All  other  eyes  of  righteous  men,  - 

Avoided  her's  with  virtuous  pride, 
Nor  could  she  meet  their  gaze  again. 

Not  could  she  deem  their  coldness  wrong 

That  virtue  of  the  Pharisee. 
Only  in  its  negations  strong, 

Ceasimr  to  freeze  might  cease  to  be. 

And  human  virtues  cm  but  be 

As  tender  flowers  a  touch  might  kill, 

Scorch'd  if  winds  breathe  too  fervently, 
Nipp'd  if  they  chance  to  blow  too  chill. 


THE    UNNAMED    WOMEN.  61 

But  His  were  of  another  sphere 

That  never  stain  nor  change  could  know, 

No  earth-born  flowers,  however  fair, 

But  the  pure  light  which  made  them  grow  ; 

No  ice  pure  only  till  it  melt, 

But  streams  most  fresh  in  freest  flow ; 

The  living  love,  wbose  pureness  dwelt 
Not  in  its  coldness  but  its  glow. 


G2  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 


IV. 


"She  hath  washed  my  feet  with  tears,  and  wiped  them  with  the  hairs  of 
her  head.    This  woman,  since  the  time  I  came  in,  hath  not  ceased  to 

kiss  my  feet Hath   anointed  my  feet  with  ointment 

She  loved  much." 

He  prized  her  love,  He  held  it  dear. 

He  felt  each  ministering  touch. 
He  mark'd  each  gift  she  offered  there, 

He  cared  that  she  should  love  him  "much." 


His  pity  was  no  careless  alms 

The  happy  to  the  wretched  fling ; 

He  prized  her  love,  her  tears,  her  balms, 
Then  life  was  yet  a  precious  thing  ; 

Precious  the  love  He  held  of  price, 

Precious  each  moment  which  miirht  bring 

Some  privilege  of  sacrifice, 
Some  vase  to  break  in  offering. 


THE   UNNAMED    WOMEN.  63 

And  God  gives  evermore  like  this, 
Gives  by  His  measure,  not  by  ours  ; 

By  life  means  not  mere  being,  but  bliss, 
Free  exercise  of  joyful  powers. 

The  freedom  with  which  He  makes  free 

Is  freedom  of  His  home  above, 
Not  merely  liberty  to  be, 

But  liberty  to  serve  and  love. 


G4  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 


V. 

41  Thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee." 

"  Forgiveness  may  then  yet  be  mine. 

The  sinless  lips  have  said  -forgiven  ;' 
Pardon  is  then  a  right  Divine, 

And  love  indeed  the  law  of  heaven. 


"But  can  the  sullied  snow  grow  white? 

What  spell  can  seal  the  memory  fast  ? 
What  has  been  ever  must  have  been. 

The  Almighty  cannot  change  the  past. 

"  His  eyes,  though  piercing  as  the  light, 

In  pity  may  refuse  to  see : 
But  what  can  make  my  memory  white  ? 

What  veil  can  hide  myself  from  me?" 


THE   UNNAMED   WOMEN.  65 

Oh  !  raise  thy  downcast  eyes  to  His, 
And  read  the  blessed  secret  there ; 

The  pardoning  love  from  guilt  that  frees, 
By  loving  thee  shall  make  thee  fair. 

Love's  deepest  depth  of  saving  woe 

Has  yet  to  be  to  thee  reveal'd  ; 
Blood  from  that  tender  heart  must  flow, 

And  thus  thy  bitter  streams  be  heal'd. 

Thy  guilt  and  shame  on  Him  must  lie ; 

Then  search  the  past  thy  guilt  to  see, 
Instead,  this  sight  shall  meet  thine  eye, — 

Thy  Saviour  on  the  cross  for  thee  ! 


66  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 


RESTORATION. 


M  Go  in  peace. 


He  clothes  thy  soul  in  spotless  dress, 
In  bridal  raiment  white  and  clean, 

The  Spirit's  bridal  robe  of  peace, 
Sign  of  the  inward  grace  unseen. 

The  love  that  sweeps  thy  spirit  o'er. 

Effacing  every  stain  of  sin, 
Flows  through  thy  spirit  evermore, 

A  well  of  heavenly  life  within. 

Thus  hallow' (1  names,  forgotten  long. 

Familiar  names  which  once  were  thine. 
With  all  the  old  attraction  strong. 

Embrace  thy  soul  from  lip*  Divine. 


RESTORATION.  67 

Soft  from  a  Father's  house  above 

Floats  down  on  thee  the  name  of  child, 

From  love  beyond  a  mother's  love 

Which  on  thy  guiltless  childhood  smiled. 

And  when  the  age  its  circuit  ends, 
And  the  great  marriage  day  is  there, 

And  from  the  heavens  a  bride  descends, 

Thou,  clothed  in  white,  the  bliss  shalt  share. 


THE  TWO  ALABASTER  BOXES. 


*  A.  woman  in  the  cirv,  which  was  a  sinner,  brought  an  alabaster  b«>T  of 

ointment,  and  anointed  His  feet." 
"  Being  in    Bethany,  there  came   a  woman   having   an   alabaster  b  x  of 

ointment   of  spikenard,  very  precious,  and   she   brake   the   box,  and 

poured  it  on  His  head." 


When  Thou,  in  patient  ministry, 

Didst  pass  a  stranger  through  Thy  land, 

Two  costly  gifts  were  offered  Thee, 
And  both  were  from  a  woman's  hand. 

To  Thee  who  madest  all  things  fair, 

Twice  fair  and  precious  things  they  bring. 

Pure  sculptured  alabaster  clear. 
Perfumes  for  earth's  anointed  King. 

Man's  hasty  lips  would  both  reprove. 
One  for  the  stain  of  too  inueh  sin. 

One  for  the  waste  of  too  much  love ! 
Yet  both  avail'd  Thy  smile  to  win. 


THE  TWO  ALABASTER  BOXES.        69 

The  saint  who  listen' d  at  thy  feet, 
The  sinner  sinners  scorned  to  touch, 

Adoring  in  thy  presence  meet, 

Both  pardon' d  and  both  loving  much. 

Thus  evermore  to  all  they  teach. 

Man's  highest  style  is  "  much  forgiven," 
And  that  earth's  lowest  yet  may  reach 

The  highest  ministries  of  heaven. 

They  teach  that  gifts  of  costliest  price 
From  hearts  sin  beggar' d  yet  may  pour ; 

And  that  love's  costliest  sacrifice 
Is  worth  the  love,  and  nothing  more. 


70  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    GOSPELS. 


n. 


Love  is  the  true  economist, 

Her  weights  and  measures  pass  in  heaven : 
What  others  lavish  on  the  feast. 

She  to  the  Lord  Himself  hath  given. 

Love  is  the  true  economist, 

She  through  all  else  to  Him  hath  sped, 
And  unreproved  His  feet  hath  kiss'd, 

And  spent  her  ointments  on  His  head. 

Love  is  the  true  economist, 

She  breaks  the  box  and  gives  her  all ; 
Yet  not  one  precious  drop  is  miss'd, 

Since  on  His  head  and  feet  they  fall. 


THE   TWO   ALABASTER   BOXES.  71 

In  all  her  fervent  zeal  no  haste, 

She  at  His  feet  sits  glad  and  calm  ; 
In  all  her  lavish  gifts  no  waste, 

The  broken  vase  but  frees  the  balm. 

Love  is  the  truest  providence, 

Since  beyond  time  her  gold  is  good, 
Stamped  for  man's  mean  u  three  hundred  pence  " 

With  Christ's  "  She  hath  done  what  she  could" 

Love  is  the  best  economist 

In  what  she  sows  and  what  she  reaps ; 
She  lavishes  her  ail  on  Christ, 

And  in  His  all  her  being  steeps. 


PAET    II. 
THE   THREE    WAKINGS. 


Among  the  ancient  Laplanders  magic  was  an  hereditary  art 
There  were,  however,  some  magicians  of  a  higher  character,  to 
whom,  in  three  supernatural  sicknesses  or  trances — one  in  child- 
hood, one  in  youth,  and  one  in  manhood — the  spirits  themselves 
taught  the  secrets  of  the  invisible  world.  These  were  honored 
by  the  whole  nation  as  seers. — Jfone.   Geschichte  des  Held'. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  poet-child  plays  on  the  margin  of  the  River  of  Life.  1  here 
the  First  Trance  overpowers  him.  He  wakens  from  it  to  the 
wonderful  beauty  of  the  universe.  The  magic  boat  bears  L:m 
away  from  the  broad  stream  of  life  to  the  regions  cf  fancy. 
There  the  Second  Trance  overshadows  him.  In  it  he  is  an  used 
to  the  sense  of  duty  and  the  necessity  of  work.  He  girds  him- 
self for  the  strife.  In  the  flush  of  the  triumph  which  succeeds  it, 
lie  is  overcome  by  the  Third  Trance.  In  it  are  revealed  to  him 
Lhe  grace  of  God,  redemption,  and  the  free  service  of  love. 


THE  THREE  WAKINGS. 


Beside  the  ancient  river 

The  infant  poet  play'd, 
The  grave  old  rocks  above  him 

Laughed  at  the  mirth  he  made. 

The  boat  that  bore  him  thither 

Lay  idle  on  the  shore, 
His  pearly  boat  that  fast  could  float 

Without  or  sail  or  oar. 

The  fresh  young  leaves  on  the  hoar  old  trees 

Quiver' d  and  flutter* d  in  glee, 
And  the  merry  rills  from  the  mighty  hills 

Shouted  as  loud  as  he. 


76  THE    THREE    WAKINGS. 

The  birds  pour'd  joyous  welcomes, 
For  they  deemed  him  one  of  them ; 

And  the  snowdrop  laugh'd  in  her  quiet  joy, 
Till  she  shook  on  her  delicate  stem. 


Broad  is  that  ancient  river, 

And  its  depths  no  sailor  knows , 

It  comes  from  a  place  no  foot  can  trace, 
'Mid  the  clouds  and  the  ancient  snows ; 

And  on  its  breast  is  bounding 

Many  a  gallant  bark  ; — 
(Do  they  know  that  at  last  o'er  a  chasm  vast 

It  leaps  into  the  dark  ?) 

But  to  the  child  its  waters 

Were  fiis  playmates  glad  and  sweet, 
Chasing  each  other  merrily 

To  bathe  his  snowy  feet; 


THE   THREE   WAKINGS.  77 

The  starry  hosts  above  him 

Were  the  flowers  of  the  sky, 
Too  high,  perhaps,  to  gather, 

But  too  beautiful  to  die ; 

The  world  with  all  its  wonders, 

Its  heavens  and  its  sea, 
Was  his  play-room,  full  of  playmates, 

Each  one  as  glad  as  he. 

But  as  he  laugh'd  and  gamboll'd 

Strange  languor  o'er  him  stole ; 
His  eyes  grew  dim,  and  faint  each  limb, 

And  dark  the  sunny  soul, 

Till  the  green  earth  in  pity 
Folded  him  to  her  breast, 
And  birds  and  waves  and  breezes 

Luird  him  to  quiet  rest. 

7* 


78  TIIE   THREE    WAKINGS. 

EL 

Sweet  Spring  the  earth  was  treacling 
When  he  broke  that  magic  trance, 

Rose  from  the  ground,  and  gazed  around 
With  a  new  and  rapturous  glance. 

Had  the  bright  earth  and  heavens 

Expanded  as  he  slept, 
That  such  a  tide  of  light  and  joy 

Around  his  senses  swept? 

Not  a  leaf  nor  a  wing  could  quiver — 
Not  a  breeze  the  waters  moved, 

But  it  thrill'd  through  sense  and  spirit, 
Like  the  voice  of  one  beloved. 

The  sun  in  his  robes  of  glory 

From  his  depths  of  light  on  high, — 

Each  lowly  flower  from  its  dewy  bower. — 
Beam'd  like  a  loving  eye. 


THE    THREE   WAKINGS.  79 

He  sate  at  the  feet  of  Nature 

In  love  and  wonder  meek  ; 
Had  he  then  learn'd  to  listen, 

Or  had  she  learned  to  speak  ? 

The  world  was  a  royal  palace. 

And  no  stranger  guest  was  he  ; 
As  the  silvery  fish  in  the  silvery  brook 

Leaps  in  its  wanton  glee, — 

As  the  lark  in  the  air  and  sunshine 
When  the  early  mists  are  curl'd, — - 

His  spirit  bathed  and  re  veil' d 
In  the  beauty  of  the  world. 

He  sought  not  his  joy  to  utter, 

He  was  content  to  see  ; 
It  was  enough  to  listen — ■ 

It  was  enough  to  be  ! 


80  THE    THREE    WAKINGS. 

He  had  rejoiced  for  ever 

In  this  Eden  to  abide, 
But  the  pearly  boat  began  to  float 

Languidly  down  the  tide. 

He  left  the  ancient  river, 
Where  the  great  navies  lay, 

And  glided  up  a  quiet  stream 
From  the  din  and  strife  away. 

The  waves  its  prow  disparted 

Made  music  as  it  went. 
Like  lyres  and  lutes  and  silvery  flutes, 

In  sweet  confusion  blent ; 

Till  they  came  through  a  rocky  portal 

Roof  d  with  many  a  gem, 
(But  one  of  the  countless  number 

Had  graced  a  diadem.) 


THE   THREE    WAKINGS.  81 

Into  a  world  of  wonders, 

Where  reigned  nor  sun  nor  moon, 

But  a  magic  light  as  still  as  night, 
And  warm  as  the  softest  noon. 

Onward  and  onward  gliding 

By  those  shores  of  wondrous  things, 

'Mid  the  murmur  of  dreamy  voices, 
And  the  waving  of  unseen  wings  ; 

Beneath  Aladdin's  palace, 

Where  the  gems  lay  thick  as  flowers, 
And  the  languid  day  trickled  away 

Like  the  fountain  'midst  leafy  bowers ; 

Amidst  the  tangled  woodland, 

Where,  in  the  chequer'd  glade, 
With  wild  and  tuneful  laughter, 

The  fairy  people  played  ; 


82  THE    THREE    WAKINGS. 

Beneath  the  cliffs  be  glided. 

And  the  unclouded  sky, 
Where  the  stately  Attic  temple 

Reared  its  white  shafts  on  high ; 

And  kingly  men  and  women, 
The  brave  and  wise  and  strong, 

Earth's  loftiest  and  sweetest  souls, 
Lived  and  made  life  a  song  ; 

Beneath  the  Northern  forest, 

Where  the  thunderbolts  were  made, 

And  spirits  and  gods  and  mighty  men 
Met  in  the  mystic  shade. 

And  the  hero  and  the  poet 
Smiled  brotherly  on  him ; 

But  a^ain  that  languid  slumber 
Crept  over  soul  and  limb. 


THE   THREE    WAKINGS.  83 

The  weight  of  a  first  sorrow 

Lay  heavy  on  his  breath, 
And  the  fair  world  was  shadowed  o'er 

With  a  darkness  as  of  death. 

And  he  longed  for  familiar  voices 
And  the  light  of  the  common  day, 

And  the  common  air  on  his  fever' d  brow, 
And  the  fields  of  his  childish  play. 

Till  by  a  lonely  islet 

The  vessel  moored  at  last, 
And  he  slept  on  the  bank,  and  languidly  sank 

'Mid  the  graves  of  the  great  that  were  past. 
*  #  *  #  *  * 

HI. 

He  woke.     The  world  of  faery, 
With  its  soft  and  gorgeous  light, 

Was  dissolved  and  gone,  and  he  lay  alone, 
Beneath  the  solemn  night ; 


8-4  TIIE   THREE   WAKINGS. 

Beneath  the  hosts  of  heaven 

In  their  grand  reality  ; 
'Mid  the  shadowy  glooms  of  many  tombs, 

On  the  shores  of  a  heaving  sea. 

A  suit  of  polished  armor 

Lay  glittering  by  his  side  ; 
Breastplate  and  casque  and  girdle. 

And  a  sword  of  temper  tried. 

Furrows  of  inward  conflict 

On  his  brow  were  dented  deep  , 

And  he  woke  to  a  steadfast  purpose 
From  the  night  of  that  awful  sleep  : 

For  a  strange  and  solemn  Visitant 

Beside  his  couch  had  been, 
Clad  in  the  old  prophetic  garb, 

And  stern  with  the  prophet's  mien. 


THE   THREE    WAKINGS.  85 

"  What  dost  thou  here  ?"  she  murmur' d, 


"  What  is  outshines  what  seems; 
Earth  has  no  room  for  idlers  ; 
Life  has  no  time  for  dreams. 

c  Seest  thou  nought  of  suffering  ? 
Knowest  thou  nought  of  sin  ? 
Hast  thou  not  heard  the  groans  without. 
Or  felt  the  sting  within  ? 

"  Thy  brethren  die  in  prisons, — 
Thy  brethren  toil  in  chains  ; 
The  body  is  racked  by  hunger, 
And  the  heart  has  sharper  pains. 

"  Gray  heads  'neath  the  weight  of  labor 
Are  sinking  into  the  grave, 
And  tender  hearts  are  growing  bard 
For  the  want  of  a  hand  to  save. 


86  THE  in  in:  i:  WAKINGS. 

"  Thousands  of  men,  thy  brethren, 
Are  perishing  around  : 
And  thou  pourest  out  thy  cup  of  life 
Upon  the  barren  ground. 

"  Rise,  gird  thee  for  true  labor: 
Rise,  arm  thee  for  the  fight. 
Go  forth  to  earth's  old  battle-field ; 
Strike  boldly  for  the  right ! 

11  Rise,  cast  thy  dreamings  from  thee  ; 
Rise,  clothed  with  vigor  new  : 
This  fallen  earth  is  no  place  for  mirth 
Arise,  go  forth  and  do  /" 

A  thrill  of  fervent  purpose 
Through  all  his  nature  ran, 

And  from  that  sleep  of  visions  deep 
The  Boy  awoke  a  Man. 


THE    THREE   WAKINGS.  87 

He  trod  with  a  steadfast  aspect 
Through  beauty  and  weal  and  ill, 

And  his  eyes  were  lit  and  his  frame  was  knit 
By  the  strength  of  a  fixed  will. 

And  the  sun  to  his  strong  purpose 

Was  but  the  lamp  of  life, — 
The  abounding  earth,  in  her  beauty  and  mirth 

But  the  field  of  the  mortal  strife. 


Where  the  nations  lay  cold  and  torpid, 
'Neath  ages  of  wrong  and  shame ; 

With  the  patience  of  love  the  poet  toil'd 
Till  life  to  the  stiff  limbs  came. 

In  the  thick  of  the  ancient  battle, 

Where  the  strong  bear  down  the  weak, 

With  the  flaming  swords  of  living  words, 
He  fought  for  the  poor  and  meek. 


88  TIIE   THREE    WAKINGS. 

Where'er  were  wrongs  to  be  righted. 
Or  sick  to  be  soothed  and  upheld ; 

Or  a  generous  deed  lay  hidden  : 
Or  a  generous  purpose  quell' d  ; 

Or  a  noble  heart  lay  sinking. 

For  the  want  of  a  cheering  word ; — 
The  music  of  his  earnest  voice 

Above  the  din  was  heard. 


Till  the  sneer  of  scorn  was  silenced. 

And  the  tongue  of  envy  hush'd, 
And  a  tumult  of  wild,  exulting  praise 

Throughout  the  nations  rush'd. 

And  they  hailed  him  King  and  Hero, 
And  hasted  his  steps  to  greet ; 

And  they  crown'd  him  with  a  golden  crown. 
And  bow'd  beneath  his  feet. 


THE   THREE   WAKINGS.  89 

But  yet  once  more  the  shadow 

Over  his  soul  was  thrown, 
And  he  on  the  height  of  his  human  might 

Lay  desolate  and  lone  ; 

Till,  in  his  helpless  anguish, 

His  spirit  turned  on  high, 
And  he  called  on  the  God  of  his  childhood 

With  a  loud  and  hitter  cry. 

"  0  God,  they  call  me  Hero, 
And  bow  the  reverent  knee, 
But  I  am  not  God,  nor  a  godlike  man, 
That  thus  they  kneel  to  me. 

"  They  call  me  Lord  and  Master  ; 
They  call  me  just  and  good  ; 
And  I  cannot  stay  my  failing  breath, 

Nor  do  the  things  I  would. 

8* 


90  THE    THREE    WAKINGS. 

14  They  cry  on  me  for  succor, 

But  in  me  is  no  might  to  Bave 
They  hail  me  as  one  immortal. 
And  I  sink  into  the  grave. 

"  Thou— only  Thou-  art  Holy  : 

With  Thee,  with  Thee,  is  might ; 
0  stay  me  with  Thy  love  and  strength, 
0  clothe  me  with  Thy  light I" 

IV. 

It  was  no  spell  of  slumber 

Which  came  upon  him  then, 
No  fitful  gleams  of  a  land  of  dreams, 

Which  burst  on  his  dazzled  ken  : 

But  he  stood  upon  the  borders 
Of  the  land  which  we  see  afar, 

When  earth's  firmest  ground  dissolves  away, 
And  men  see  things  as  they  are. 


THE   THREE    WAKINGS. 

He  saw  a  young  child  standing 
In  a  famine-stricken  land, 

Entrusted  with  a  bounteous  store, 
The  gifts  of  a  gracious  hand. 

He  saw  it  scatter  its  treasures 
In  idle  and  thankless  waste ; 

And  when  from  its  idlesse  startled, 
It  gave  away  the  rest. 

And  the  grateful  people  hasten' d 
To  garland  its  guilty  head, — 

It  took  the  homage  as  its  due, 

Then  cried  like  the  rest  for  bread. 

And  stung  with  shame  and  anguish, 
He  cried,  "  It  is  I ;  it  is  I ; 

Father,  forgive,  forgive  my  sin  V 
And  he  cried  with  a  bitter  cry. 


92  THE    TIIREE    WAKINGS. 

That  cry  reached  the  heart  of  the  Father : 
Once  more  he  looked  on  high, 

And  in  the  depths  of  heaven. — 
In  the  calm  of  the  upper  sky. — 

He  saw  "midst  the  sea  of  glory, — 

A  glory  surpassing  bright, 
One  crown' d  with  a  Crown  of  Inheritance, 

Clad  in  unborrow'd  light. 

He  saw  Him  leave  the  glory, 

And  lay  aside  the  crown, 
And  to  that  land  of  famine, 

Came,  touch' d  with  pity,  down  ; 

And  gird  Himself  for  service, 

And  minister  to  all : 
No  service  was  for  Hiin  too  mean. 

No  care  of  love  too  small. 


THE   THREE    WAKINGS.  93 

But  men  paid  Him  no  homage, 
They  crown' d  Him  with  no  crown  ; 

And  the  dying  bed  they  made  for  Him 
Was  not  a  bed  of  down. 

What  more  then  met  his  vision 

Falls  dimly  on  mortal  ears  ; 
The  angels  were  mute  with  wonder, 

And  the  poet  with  grateful  tears. 

The  rebel  will  was  broken, 

The  captive  heart  was  free — 
"  0  Lord  of  all,  who  servedst  all, 

Let  me  Thy  servant  be  !" 

He  woke ;  once  more  he  found  him 
In  the  home  where  he  played  a  child  : 

His  mother  held  his  feverish  hand, 
His  sisters  wept  and  smiled. 


94  TIIE    THREE    W  A  KINGS. 

He  loved  them  more  than  ever, 
With  a  pure  and  fervent  love : 

lie  loved  God's  sun  and  earth  and  skies, 
Though  his  home  lay  far  above. 

His  poet's  crown  lay  near  him 

Fused  to  a  golden  cup ; 
It  would  carry  water  for  parched  lips, 

So  he  thankfully  took  it  up. 


He  went  in  the  strength  of  dependence. 
To  tread  where  his  Master  trod, 

To  gather  and  knit  together 
The  family  of  God  : 

Awhile  as  a  heaven-born  stranger 
To  pass  through  this  world  of  si  i. 

With  a  heart  diffusing  the  balm  of  peace 
From  the  place  of  peace  within  : 


THE   THREE    WAKINGS,  95 

With  a  conscience  freed  from  burdens, 

And  a  heart  set  free  from  care, 
To  minister  to  every  one 

Always  and  everywhere. 

No  more  on  the  heights  of  glory 

A  lonely  man  he  stood  ; 
Around  him  gathered  tenderly 

A  lowly  brotherhood. 

They  spent  their  lives  for  others, 
Yet  the  world  knew  them  not, — 

It  had  not  known  their  Master, — 
And  they  sought  no  higher  lot. 

But  the  angels  of  heaven  knew  them, 
And  He  knew  them  who  died  and  rose ; 

And  the  poet  knew  that  the  lowest  place 
Was  that  wThich  the  Highest  chose. 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  IN  THE  PRESENT. 

Why  sigh  we  for  the  times  of  yore. 

The  ';  good  old  times"  that  come  no  more  ? 

The  oldest  day  was  once  to-day  : 

Each  hour  wore  in  its  settled  place 

As  every  day  a  garb  and  face 
As  those  which  glide  from  us  away. 

Nature  grows  never  old  : 
On  every  dawning  soul  she  dawns  anew. 
And  grows  and  ripens  with  their  growth : 
Only  to  spirits  which  have  lost  their  youth. 
The  heart  of  love  and  sense  sincere  and  true. 
Her  living  forms  seem  cold. 


THE    GOLDEN   AGE   IN   THE    PRESENT.  97 

Sigh  not  for  ancient  days  with  poetry  rife, 

To  poets  is  the  poetic  age  not  fled  ; 

Go  let  the  dead  inter  their  dead, 
For  to  the  living  there  is  always  life 
Nature  has  still  fresh  founts  of  art 
To  pour  into  the  artist's  heart ; 
To  eyes  fresh  bathed  in  morning  dew, 
The  Golden  Age  shines  ever  new. 
Do  ocean  billows  foam  less  gladly  now 

Than  when  the  sea- nymphs  danced  upon  the  wave  ? 
Curl  they  less  proudly  'neath  the  swift  ship's  prow, 

Upheaving  from  the  coral  cave  ? 
Sing  they  a  song  less  syren  sweet, 
At  noontide  bathing  weary  feet, 
Languidly  smiling, 
Softly  beguiling, 

Like  lips  that  faintly  move, 

Murmuring  words  of  love  ? 
Do  forest  streams  less  freshly  well, 
Dewing  with  green  the  grassy  dell, 


98  THE    GOLDEN   AGE    IN    TIIE    PRESENT. 

Giving  the  thirsty  flowers  to  drink, 
Filling  their  starry  eyes  with  joy, 
Shedding  cool  fragrance  on  the  air. 
Than  when  the  wood-nymphs  sported  there? 
Or  does  the  waterfall's  robe,  silver-pale, 

Wave  in  the  breeze  less  lightly 
Than  when  the  Naiad's  moonlit  veil 

Glcam'd  through  the  dark  trees  brightly? 
Has  evening  a  less  golden  sheen  ? 

Has  morning  a  less  rosy  glow  ? 
Are  noon-day's  arrowy  rays  less  keen 

Than  when  Apollo  strung  the  bow  ? 
And  when  at  morn  in  spring 

The  sun  with  kisses  wakes  the  earth, 
And  sun-born  showers  of  golden  rain 

With  floods  of  melody  pour  forth — 
Say,  are  not  light  and  music  one  again  ? 

Sigh  not  the  old  heroic  ages  back, 

The  heroes  were  but  brave  and  earnest  men. 


THE    GOLDEN   AGE   IN   THE    PRESENT.  99 

Do  thou  but  hero-like  pursue  thy  track, 

Striving,  not  sighing,  brings  them  back  again : 
The  hero's  path  is  straight,  to  do  and  say 

God's   words   and   works   in    spite    of  toil   and 
shame  : 
Labors  enough  will  meet  thee  in  thy  way. 

So  thou  forsak'st  not  it  to  seek  for  them. 
Canst  thou  no  wrong  with  courage  patient  bear, 

Strength  to  none  weaker  than  thyself  impart? 

0  seek  from  Him  who  died  the  hero's  heart, 
And  the  heroic  age  for  thee  is  there. 
Sigh  not  *br  simple  days  of  old, 

The  childlike  days  of  love  and  trust ; 
There  never  was  an  age  of  gold, 

And  faith  makes  gold  of  all  earth's  dust. 
The  Church's  youthful  strength  grows  never  grey, 
Herself  ,a  fadeless  youth  amid  the  world's  decay. 
Canst  thou  not  love  ?  has  earth  no  room 

For  all  thy  heart  would  give, 
With  all  the  blessed  depths  of  home 


100   THE  (i  OLDEN  AGE  IX  THE  PRESENT. 

And  myriad  hearts  that  weep  and  strive? 
i  here  no  desolate  and  poor 
To  nourish  from  thy  store? 
No  songs  of  joy  and  glowing  praise 
Thy  voice  might  help  to  raise  ? 
No  heart  long  left  alone 

Till  it  grew  stiff  and  chill ; 

Thy  voice  might  waken  with  a  thrill 
Of  love,  long,  long  unknown  ? 
Is  earth  too  small  to  hold 

The  yearnings  of  thy  love  ? 

Is  there  not  heaven  above 
As  near  thee  as  of  old? 
Does  lie  who  came  at  Pentecost 

His  presence  now  withhold? 
That  the  first  works  should  e'er  be  lost, 

Or  the  first  love  grow  cold. 
Oil,  fill  thy  heart  with  God,  and  thou  shalt  prove 
That  there  is  left  enough  to  trust  and  love  ! 


THE    GOLDEN   AGE   IN    THE    PRESENT.        101 

For  what  is  time  past  but  to-day, 

Mirror' d  in  still  pools  peacefully : 
The  future  but  the  same  to-day, 

Reflected  in  a  heaving  sea  ? 
Only  the  present  hour  has  life, 
The  home  of  work,  the  field  of  strife. 
Choose  not  thy  bride  among  the  dead, 

But  press  the  present  to  thy  breast ; 
In  her,  thy  soul  shall  find  its  bread, 

Thy  mind  its  sphere,  thy  heart  its  rest. 
Till  God  shall  speak  another  "  Let  there  be," 
And  time,  like  darkness  before  light,  shall  flee 
Before  the  Now  of  His  eternity. 


THE  POETS  FOOD. 

The  Poet  does  not  dwell  apart,  enshrined  in  golden 

beams  : 
He  is  not  mail'd  from  time's  rude  blows  in  a  panoply 

of  dreams. 

No  Pegasus  bears  him  aloft  in  pathways  'mid  the 

clouds  : 
But  he  must  tread  the  common  earth  mingling  in 

common  crowds. 

He  dwells  not  in  fair  solitudes  a  still  and  lone  re- 
cluse ; 

But  he  must  handle  common  tools  to  his  diviner 
use. 


THE   POET'S  FOOD.  103 

He  doth  not  list  in  magic  caves  the  music  of  life's 

ocean, 
Borne  freely  on  its  winds  and  waves,  he  feels  their 

every  motion. 

The  glory  which  around  him  shines  is  no  fictitious 

ray; 
It  is  the  sun  which  shines  on  all,  the  light  of  common 

day. 

But  he  has  won  an  open  eye  to  see  things  as  they 
are, 

A  glory  in  God's  meanest  works  which  passeth  fic- 
tion far. 

His   ear  is   open    to   discern   stirrings    of    angel 

wings, 
And  angel  whispers  come  to  him  from  mute  and 

common  things. 


10A  the  poet's  food. 

And  nature  ever  meeting  him  with  the  same  ra- 
diant face, 

And  filling  still  her  daily  round  with  the  old  quiet 
grace, 

Is  fresh  and  glorious  as  at  first,  and  mightier  far  to 

bless, 
His  youth's  strong  passion  growing  ripe   in  deep 

home-tenderness. 

And  truths   to  which  his    childhood   clung,    like 

songs  repeated  often 
By  the  sweet  voice  of  one  we  love,  do  but  the  san  r 

soften. 


One  thing  he  scorns  with  bitter  scorn,  the  lived  or 

spoken  lie, 
Yet  knowing  what  a  labyrinth  life,  how  dim  the 

inward  eye, 


105 

Is  slow  to  brand  his  fellow-man  as  false,  or  base,  or 

mean, 
Or  aught  which  hath  fed  human  hearts,  as  common 

or  unclean. 

Nature  prepares  no  royal  food  for  this  her  royal 

guest ; 
No  special  banquet  is  for  him  at  life's  full  table 

dress' d. 

But  all    life's   honest   impulses,   home  joys,   and 

cares,  and  tears, 
The  shower  of  cordial  laughter  which  the  clouded 

bosom  cheers, 

All  earnest  voices  of  his  kind,  calm  thoughts  of 

solitude, 
All  of  the  world  that  is  not  husks,  this  is  the  poet's 

food 


106  THE   POET'S   FOOD. 

God's  living  poem  speaks  to  him  God-like  in  every 

line ; 
Not  all  man's  hackney' d  renderings  can  make  it 

less  divine. 


A  TRUE   DREAM. 

I  dreamt  we  danced  in  careless  glee3 
With  hearts  and  footsteps  light  and  free. 
That  one  so  dearly  loved  and  I, 
As  in  the  childish  days  gone  by 
For  ever. 

I  felt  her  arms  around  me  fold, 
I  heard  her  soft  laugh  as  of  old ; 
Her  eyes  with  smiles  were  brimming  o'er, 
Eyes  we  may  meet  on  earth  no  more 
For  ever. 

Then  there  came  mingling  with  my  dreams 
A  sense  perplex' d  of  loss  and  change  — 
An  echo  dim  of  time  and  tears : 


108  A   Till JB    DRBA1L 

Until  I  said,  :*  How  long  it  si 

Since  thus  we  danced!     Is  it  not  strange? 
Do  you  not  feel  the  weight  of 
Or  dread  life's  evenin  i  cold  ? 

Or  mourn  to  think  we  must  grow  old?" 
"Wondering,  she  paused  a  little  while, 
Then  answered,  with  a  radiant  smile, 

:-  Xo.  never  !"' 


Wondering  as  if  to  her  I  told 

The  customs  of  some  foreign  hind : 

Or  spoke  a  tongue  she  knew  of  old, 
But  could  no  longer  understand. 

Till  o'er  her  face  that  sunshine  hroke. 

And  with  that  radiant  smile  she  spoke 
That  "] 


But  not  until  the  dream  had  lied 
I  knew  the  >ense  of  what  Bbe  said: 


A    TRUE    DREAM.  109 

Young  with  immortal  truth  and  love, 
Child  in  the  Father's  house  above 
For  ever. 

We  echo  back  thy  words  again, 
They  smite  us  with  no  grief  or  pain  ; 
We  journey  not  towards  the  night, 
But  to  the  breaking  of  the  light 

Together. 

Our  life  is  no  poor  cistern'd  store 
The  lavish  years  are  draining  low ; 

But  living  streams  that,  welling  o'er, 

Fresh  from  the  Living  Fountain  flow 

For  ever. 
10 


THE  ALPINE   GENTIAN. 

She  'mid  ice  mountains  vast 
Long  had  lain  sleeping, 

When  she  look'd  forth  at  last 
Timidly  peeping. 

Trembling  she  gazed  around, 

All  round  her  slept ; 
O'er  the  dead  icy  ground 

Cold  shadows  crept. 

Wide  fields  of  silent  snow, 

Still,  frozen  seas — 
What  could  her  young  life  do 

'Mid  such  as  these  ? 


THE   ALPINE    GENTIAN.  Ill 

Not  a  voice  came  to  her. 

Not  a  warm  breath ; 
What  hope  lay  there  for  her 

Living  'midst  death  ? 

Mournfully  pondering 

Gazed  she  on  high ; 
White  clouds  were  wandering 

Through  the  blue  sky. 

There  smiled  the  kindly  sun, 

Gentle  beams  kissed  her ; 
On  her  the  mild  moon  shone 

Like  a  saint  sister. 

There  twinkled  many  a  star, 

Danced  in  sweet  mirth  ; 
The  warm  heavens  seemed  nearer  far 

Than  the  cold  earth. 


112  THE    ALPINE    GENTIAN 

So  she  gazed  steadfastly 

Loving  on  high  : 
Till  she  grew  heavenly, 

Blue  as  the  sky. 

And  the  cold  icicles 
Near  which  she  grew, 

Thaw'd  in  her  skyey  belk 
Fed  her  with  dew. 

And  the  tired  traveller 

Gazing  abroad, 
Fixing  his  eyes  on  her 

Thinking  of  God; 

Thinks  how,  'mid  life's  cold,  snow, 

Hearts  to  God  given 
Breathe  out  where'er  they  go, 

Summer  and  heaven. 


THE  FORGET-ME-NOT. 

She  dwelt  in  the  greenwood, 
A  spring  gushing  near, 

No  fairy  queen  could 
Queenlier  fare. 


Bees  knew  her  caskets  ; 

Bold  friars  grey 
Filling  their  baskets, — 

"  For  the  convent,"  said  thej, 

Butterfly  vagrants 

Gossipp'd  there  long ; 

Winds  brought  her  fragrance. 

Birds  brought  her  song. 
10* 


114  THE   FORGET-ME-NOT. 

Leaves  rustling  o'er  her 
Let  the  light  through; 

The  blithe  stream  would  pour  her 
Draughts  of  sweet  dew. 

O'er  her  so  clearly 

The  warm  heavens  smiled ; 

They  all  loved  her  dearly, 
The  forest's  fair  child. 


Thus  pass'd  her  childhood 

Dreamily  by, 
By  the  fount  in  the  wild  wood, 

'Neath  the  blue  sky. 

The  kind  sun  above  her. 

Stream,  bird,  and  wind, 
She  knew  not  they  loved  her, 

Knew  they  were  kind. 


THE    FORGET-ME-NOT.  115 

Till  one  day  gazing 

In  the  fount  pure  and  cold, 

A  vision  amazing- 
She  saw  there  unfold. 

A  blue  eye  soft  beaming 

Met  her  blue  eye, 
A  golden  star  gleaming. 

A  miniature  sky. 

Calm  the  waves  under 

The  fair  vision  lay  ; 
Lost  in  sweet  wonder, 

She  gazed  there  all  day. 

Saw  not  the  heaven, 

Heard  not  the  breeze, 
Till  the  soft  even 

Shadow'd  the  trees. 


11G  THE   FORGBT-ME-B 

The  stars  still  were  shining 
But  they  seeni  d  fur. 

While  she  lay  pining 
For  her  lost  star. 

The  gentle  leaves  rustling. 

The  night- winds'  soft  stir. 
Seem'd  harsh  and  bustling. 

Strange  voices  to  her. 

Not  heaven's  smile  moved  her. 

Nor  the  stream's  old  kind  tone 
'Mid  so  many  that  loved  her. 

She  wept  there  alone. 

Till,  the  shadows  dispersing, 
The  Sun  rose  anew, 

The  high  forest  piercing. 
Pierced  her  heart  through. 


THE   FORGET-ME-NOT.  117 

Her  dewy  eyes  raising 

He  met  them  and  smiled, 
The  eye  of  heaven  gazing 

On  her  heaven's  child. 


For  the  lost  dream  was  given 
The  Truth  brighter  far, 

The  blue  loving  heaven, 
The  Sun  for  the  star. 

Then  all  voices  moved  her, 
The  trees  grave  and  tall, 

The  deep  sky  above  her, 
The  blithe  insects  small, 

She  loved  them  each  one, 

For  they  all  loved  the  Sun, 
And  the  Sun  loved  them  all. 


TO  A  REDBREAST. 

Robin  to  the  bare  bough  clinging, 
What  can  thy  blithe  music  mean  ? 

Like  a  hidden  fount,  thy  singing 

Seems  to  clothe  the  woods  with  green. 

What  warm  nest  for  thee  hath  Nature 
Where  thy  soft  red  breast  to  lay  ? 

Sing'st  thou,  little  homeless  creature, 
For  the  crumbs  we  strew'd  to-day  ? 

Other  birds  have  fled  this  dun  light, 
Soaring  on  to  regions  bright, 

Singing  in  the  richest  sunlight, 
Singing  'neath  the  starry  night : 


TO   A   REDBREAST.  119 

Hiding  in  the  broad-leaf  d  shadows 

Of  the  southern  woods  at  noon, 
Filling  all  the  flower-starr'd  meadows 

As  with  melodies  of  June. 

Knowest  thou  the  woods  have  voices 
Which  like  light  the  heart  unfold, 

Till  it  trembles  and  rejoices, 
Growing  deep  that  joy  to  hold  ? 

Pouring  music  like  a  river, 

Many- toned  and  deep  and  strong, — 

Tones  by  which,  like  childhood's,  quiver 
Thy  few  notes  of  simple  song. 

Then  the  "  crimson- tipped"  thing, 

Like  a  daisy  among  birds, 
With  a  quiet  glee  did  sing 

Songs  condensed  thus  in  words  . — 


120  TO   A    REDBREAST. 

"  Well  I  know  the  joyous  mazes 
Of  the  songs  so  full  and  fine  ; 

Very  faint  would  be  God's  praises 
Sounded  by  no  v6ice  but  mine. 

11  Yet  the  little  child's  sweet  laughter 
Wakes  it  no  responsive  smile, — 

Though  the  poet  singeth  after. 
And  the  angels  all  the  while? 

"What  I  sing  I  cannot  measure, 
Why  I  sing  I  cannot  say ; 

But  I  know  a  well  of  pleasure 
Springeth  in  my  heart  all  day." 

So  I  learned  that  crumbs  are  able 
Lowly  hearts  to  fill  with  song, — 

Crumbs  from  off  a  festal  table 
Lowly  hearts  will  join  ere  long. 


TO    A    REDBREAST.  121 

He  who  winter  days  hath  given. 

With  the  snows  gives  snow-drops  birth  ; 
And  while  angels  sing  in  heaven, 

God  hears  robins  sing  on  earth. 

Only  keep  thee  on  the  wing, 

Music  dieth  in  the  dust ; 
Nothing  that  but  creeps  can  sing, 

All  hearts  that  soar  heavenward  must. 

11 


ST.  FRANCIS  D'ASSISrS  CANTICUM  SOLI& 

Altissimo  oinnipotente  buon  Signore.  tue  son  lo  laudi.  la  gloria, 
lo  honor,  o  ogni  benediction.  A  te  solo  se  confanno  e  nullo  ho- 
mo e  degno  di  nominarti. 

Laudato  sia  mio  Signore  per  tutte  le  creature,  specialmente 
Messer  lo  Fratre  Sole,  il  quale  giorna  illumina  noi  per  lui.  E 
alto  e  bello  e  radiante  con  grande  splendore.  Da  Te  Signore 
porta  significazione. 

Laudato  sia  mio  Signore  per  Suora  Luna  e  per  le  stelle  le 
quali  in  cielo  le  hai  formate  chiare  e  belle. 

Laudato  sia  mio  Signoio  per  fratre  Vento  e  per  la  luce  e  nu- 
role  e  sereno  e  ogni  tempo,  per  lo  quale  dai  a  tutte  creature 
sustentmncnto. 

Laudato  sia  mio  Signore  per  Suora  acqua  la  quale  e  molto 
utile  e  humile  e  pretiosa  e  casta. 

Laudato  sia  mio  Signora  per  Fratre  Fuoco  per  lo  quale  tu  al- 
lumini  la  notte,  e  bello  e  jocundo  e  robust  issirno  e  forte. 

Laudato  sia  mio  Signore  per  nostra  Madre  Terra  la  quale  ne 
so^tcnta,  govcrnn,  e  produce  diversi  frulto,  o  coloriti  liori  e  herbi. 

Laudato  sia  mio  Signore  per  quelli  clie  perdonano  per  lo  too 
amore  c  sosteneno  infinnitade  e  tribulatione.  Bcati  quelli  ohe 
sostegneranno  in  pace  che  da  Te  Altissimo  s.iranno  iucoronati. 


CANTICUM   SOLIS.  123 


I  bless  Thee,  Father,  that  where'er  I  go 

A  brotherhood  of  blessed  creatures  goes 

With  me,  and  biddeth  me  God  speed.     For  all 

Thy  mute  and  innocent  creatures  take  my  thanks 

To  me  they  are  child-brethren  without  speech 

Or  sin. 

And  first  for  him,  the  noblest  of  them  all, 

He  who  brings  day  and  summer,  disenchants 

The  ice-bound  streams,  and  wakes  the  happy  birds, 

Pure  choristers,  to  matins  ;  at  whose  call 

The  young  flowers,  startled  from  their  hiding-places, 

Peep  and  laugh ;  who  clothes  the  earth,  and  fills 

The  heavens  with  joy ;  and  he  is  beautiful 

And  radiant  with  great  splendor.     Praise  to  Thee, 

0  Highest !  for  our  royal  brother  Sun  ; 

For  bears  he  not  an  impress,  Lord,  of  Thee  ? 


And  praise  for  licr  our  holy  white-veiled  sister, 

Dwelling  on  high  in  heavenly  purit 

And  for  the  radiant  hosts  that  bear  her  compa 

For  they  are  bright  and  beautiful. 
Praise  for  the  moon  and  stars. 

Praise  for  our  brother  Wind,  for  though  his  voice 

Is  rough  at  times,  and  in  his  savage  mood 

He  rends  the  earth,  rousing  the  sea  to  fury, 

Yet  at  Thy  calm  rebuke  he  layeth  by 

His  lion  nature,  frisketh  like  a  lamb 

Beside  the  streams,  and  gently  crisps  with  snow 

The  sapphire  waves,  and  stirs  the  corn,  and  wakes 

The  languid  flowers  to  life,  and  lays  dead  hi  - 

Softly  in  their  graves;  for  the  strong  winds, 

The  rough  but  kindly  winds,  we  bless  Th    •.  Lord. 

And  for  our  sister.  Water,  mountain  child 
Whose  happy  feet  make  music  on  the  hills, 
For  her  who  bounds  so  light  from  1 


CANTICUM   SOLIS.  125 

Yet  brings  a  blessing  wheresoe'er  she  comes.  . 
She  spurns  all  fetters,  laughs  at  all  restraint, 
Yet  scorns  no  lowliest  ministry  of  love, 
Abiding  peacefully  in  roadside  wells, 
And  sparkling  welcomes  in  the  peasant's  cup. 
Nature's  sweet  almoner  !  all  praise  for  her  ! 
For  she  is  useful,  precious,  meek,  and  chaste. 
We  bless  Thee,  Lord,  for  her. 

And  for  our  brother,  Fire  ! — fearful  is  he 
When  he  goes  forth  exulting  in  his  strength, 
And  all  things  quail  and  fly  before  his  face  ! 
Yet  he  will  sit  a  patient  minister 
Of  blessings  on  our  hearth,  and  through  the  night 
He  cheers  us.     He  is  joyous,  bold,  robust, 
And  strong.     Praise,  Lord,  for  him  ! 

And  for  our  mother  Earth,  who  feedeth  us 

With  such  unwearied  love,  and  strews  our  paths 

With  rainbow- tinted  flowers  and  healing  herbs, 
11* 


126  OAKTICUM   SOUS. 

Our  gentle,  generous,  most  beautiful, 
And  ever  youthful  mother. 

Thus,  blessed  Christ,  all  praise  to  Thee  for  these 
Thy  creatures.     They  are  all  Thy  ministers. 
And  to  thy  reconciled  speak  nought  but  peace. 
Children  and  servants  are  we  in  one  household, 
Dwelling  before  Thee  in  sweet  harmony. 
0  bles3  us  all !  Father  !  we  all  bless  Thee ! 


NATURE  NO  SELF-ACTING  INSTRUMENT. 

So  soberly  and  softly 

The  seasons  tread  their  round, 
So  surely  seeds  of  autumn 

In  spring-time  clothe  the  ground, 
Amid  their  measured  music 

What  watchful  ear  can  hear, 
God's  voice  amidst  the  Garden  ? 

Yet,  hush  !  for  He  is  here  ! 

No  mere  machine  is  nature, 

Wound  up  and  left  to  play, 
No  wind-harp  swept  at  random 

By  airs  that  idly  stray  ; 
A  Spirit  sways  the  music, 

A  Hand  is  on  the  chords, 
0,  bow  thy  head  and  listen. — 

That  hand  it  is  the  Lord's  ! 


ON  THE  GRAVE  OF  A  FAITHFUL  DOG 

Three  trees  which  stand  apart  upon 
A  sunny  slope  of  meadow  ground, 

A  shadow  from  the  heat  at  noon. — 
And  underneath  a  grassy  mound. 

A  little  silent  grassy  mound  : — 

And  is  this  all  is  left  of  thee. 
Whose  feet  would  o'er  the  meadow  bound, 

So  full  of  eager  life  and  glee  ? 

Of  "  thee?"  and  may  I  Bay  e'en  this 
Of  what  so  wholly  passed  a  way  ? 

Or  can  such  trust  and  tenders 
Be  crush'd  entirely  into  cl 


ON   THE    GRAVE   OF   A    FAITHFUL   DOG.      129 

The  voice  whose  welcomes  were  so  glad, 
Feet  pattering  like  summer  showers, 

The  dark  eyes  which  would  look  so  sad 
If  gathering  tears  were  dimming  ours ; 

Those  wistful,  dark,  inquiring  eyes, 
So  fond  and  watchful,  deep  and  true, 

That  made  the  thought  so  often  rise — 

What  looks  those  crystal  windows  through  ? 

Didst  thou  not  watch  for  hours  our  track, 

And  for  the  absent  seem  to  pine  ? 
And  when  the  well-known  voice  came  back, 

What  ecstasy  could  equal  thine  ? 

Is  it  all  lost  in  nothingness, 

Such  gladness,  love,  and  hope,  and  trust, 
Such  busy  thought  our  thoughts  to  guess, 

All  trampled  into  common  dust  ? 


ISO       ON    THE    (iKAVE    OF    A    FAITHFUL    DOG. 

Save  memories  which  our  hearts  entwine, 
Has  all  for  ever  passed  away, 

Like  the  clear  home  once  thine  and  mine, 
The  home  now  silent  as  thy  clay? 

Or  is  there  something  yet  to  come, 
Prom  all  our  science  still  conceaVd, 

About  the  patient  creatures  dumb 
A  secret  yet  to  be  reveal' d  ? 

A  happy  secret  still  behind, 

Yet  for  the  mute  creation  stored, 

"Which  suffers,  though  it  never  sinn'd. 
And  loves  and  toils  without  reward. 


A  JOURNEY  ON  THE  SOUTH-DEVON 
RAILWAY. 

The  young  oak  casts  its  delicate  shadow 
Over  the  still  and  emerald  meadow ; 
The  sheep  are  cropping  the  fresh  spring  grass, 
And  never  raise  their  heads  as  we  pass ; 
The  cattle  are  taking  their  noon-day  rest, 
And  chewing  their  cud  with  a  lazy  zest, 
Or  bathing  their  feet  in  the  reedy  pool 
Switch  their  tails  in  the  shadows  cool ; 
But  away,  away,  we  may  not  stay, 
Panting  and  puffing,  and  snorting  and  start- 
ing. 
And  shrieking  and  crying,  and  madly  flying, 
On  and  on,  there 's  a  race  to  be  run  and  a  goal  to 
be  won  ere  the  set  of  the  sun. 


132  A  JOURNEY  ON  THE  SOUTH-DEVON  RAILWAY. 

Two  white  clouds  are  poised  on  high, 

Sunning  their  wings  in  the  azure  sky : 

Two  white  swans  float  to  and  fro 
li  Uy  ]■'.  the  stream  below, 

As  it  sleeps  beneath  a  beechwood  tall, 

Clouds,  and  swans,  and  trees,  and  all, 

Image  themselves  in  the  quiet  stream, 

Passing  their  lives  in  a  sunny  dream  ; 
But  away,  away,  we  may  not  stay, 
Panting  and  puffing,  and  snorting  and  starting, 
And  shrieking  and  crying,  and  madly  flying. 

On  and  on,  there's  a  race  to  be  run  and  a  goal  to 
be  won  ere  the  set  of  the  sun. 

Under  the  tall  cliffs,  green  and  deep 
The  ocean  rests  in  its  mid-day  sleep ; 
The  waves  are  heaving  lazily 

Where  the  purple  sea-weeds  float ; 
Sunbeams  cross  on  the  distant  sea, 

Specked  by  the  sail  of  the  fisher's  boat : 


A  JOURNEY  ON  THE  SOUTH-DEVON  RAILWAY.  133 

But  away,  away,  we  may  not  stay, 
Panting  and  puffing,  and  snorting  and  start- 
ing, 
And  shrieking  and  crying,  and  madly  flying, 

On  and  on,  there  's  a  race  to  be  run,  and  a  goal  to 
be  won  ere  the  set  of  the  sun. 

Into  the  deep  dell's  still  retreat, 

Where  the  river  rushes  beneath  our  feet, 

Skirting  the  base  of  moorland  hills, 

By  the  side  of  rocky  rills, 

Where  the  wild-bird  bathes  and  plumes  its  wing, 

Where  the  fields  are  fresh  with   the   breath   of 

spring, 

Where  the  earth  is  hushed  in  her  noon-day  prayer, 

No  place  so  sacred  but  we  come  there. 

On  nature's  mid-day  sleep  we  break, 

And  are  miles  away  ere  her  echoes  wake  : 

We  startle  the  wood-nymphs  in  their  play, 

And  ere  they  can  hide  are  away,  away ! 
12 


124  A  JOURNEY  ON  THE  BOUTH-DBVON  RAILWAY. 

Away,  away,  we  may  not  stay, 

Panting  and  puffing,  and  snorting  and  start- 
And  shrieking  and  crying,  and  madly  flying, 
On  and  on,  there  's  a  race  to  be  run  and  a  goal  to 
be  won  ere  the  set  of  the  sun. 


THE  THREE  TRANCES. 

LEGEND  OF  A  NORTHERN  SEER. 

I  WAS  a  glad  and  sunny  child, 
And  in  the  fount  of  life 
Which,  gushing  from  its  hidden  cave 
In  many  a  clear  and  sparkling  wave, 

Each  with  sweet  music  rife, 
Wells  in  the  morning  sunlight  up 

E'en  to  its  stony  brim, 
Dropping  into  each  flowery  cup 

That  trembles  on  the  rim, 
Thence  trickling  through  the  long  soft  grass 
That  springs  up  green  where'er  it  pass, 
(E'en  from  the  stones  it  lives  among 
Ricging  a  clear  and  hearty  song, 


1GG  THE    THREE    TRANCES. 

Each  joyous  chime  and  merry  burst 
As  fresh  and  glad  as  'twere  the  fi: t 
I  bathed,  and  quenched  my  healthy  thirst, 
Until  my  heart  grew  wild. 

I  bounded  o'er  the  bounding  turf, 
I  shouted  to  the  shouting  surf. 

I  laugh'd  with  the  merry  streams  , 
My  playmates  were  the  birds  and  bee3, 
The  noisy  wind,  the  whispering  breeze, 

And  changeful  summer  gleams. 

And  in  the  still  and  sultry  hours. 
When  Nature  droop' d  and  was  sad. 
Weary  with  thirst  and  heat, 
The  tread  of  my  light  feet 
Was  cool  and  musical, 
As  when,  at  evening,  fall 
Drop  by  drop  in  lonely  pools  the  summer  showers, 
And  the  desert  looked  up  and  was  glad. 


THE    THREE    TRANCES.  137 

I  strove  with  the  maddeud  storm. 

I  leapt  the  crag  with  the  waterfall, 
For  the  blood  in  my  veins  was  warm, 

And  storms,  and  streams,  and  gleams,  and  all 
The  mighty  creatures  of  the  wild, 

In  their  fierce,  exulting  play, 
They  welcomed  me 
To  their  company, 
And  they  laughed  to  see  a  little  child 

As  strong  and  as  glad  as  they. 

Then  a  shadow  came  before  my  eyes, 

And  a  weight  upon  my  heart, 

And  my  breath  came  slow, 

Laden  with  heavy  sighs, 

And  one  I  did  not  know 

Ever  to  me 

Clung  wearily, 

And  whispered  that  we  never  more  should 

part. 

12* 


138  THE    THREE    TRANCES. 

And  on  the  crags  -where  I  was  wont  to  stand 
He  dragged  me  downward  with  a  heavy  hand, 
And  on  the  mountains  where  I  used  to  be 
As  mountain  breezes  free. 
He  came,  and  then  my  steps  fell  heavily. 

And  in  the  forest  glad  and  lone, 
"Where  winds  and  ancient  trees, 
And  the  torrent  and  the  breeze. 

Had  talk*d  to  me  as  to  a  fellow  of  their  owi 
His  heavy  breath  my  voice  would  choke, 

His  wings  would  cloud  my  spirit  o'er 
I  could  not  answer  when  they  spoke. 

And  I  was  of  their  fellowship  no  more. 
The  waters  lauglrd — I  could  not  laugh — 

In  their  ancient  dwelling 

Nature's  founts  were  welling, 
Life-giving  as  of  old.  but  not  for  me  to  quaff. 
For  ever  he  would  bide 
By  my  side, 
And  'neath  his  heavy  tread  the  springs  were  dried. 


THE   THREE    TRANCES.  139 

From  crag  to  crag  the  torrent  sprung, 

Ever  young. 
My  step  had  lost  its  spring, 

The  young  winds  sang  their  wonted  song 

The  flowers  among, 
A  song  I  might  not  sing. 

The  ocean  and  the  stormy  winter  weather 
Play'd  their  wild  play  together 

As  of  old. 
I  could  not  play,  and  grew  to  dread  the  storm. — 
The  blood  in  nature's  veins  was  warm, 

Mine  ran  cold. 

And  when  in  noontide  hours  of  weariness 
Nature  had  laid  her  down  to  sleep 
In  the  solitude, 
My  step  no  more  awoke  the  wilderness. 

My  voice  no  more  her  parched  heart  could  steep 
With  life  and  good, 


140  THE   THREE   TRANCES, 

Like  fountains  gushing  in  a  thirsty  place  ; 
Nature  no  more  was  glad  to  see  my  face, 

For  I  was  faint  and  sad  as 
And  wheresoe'er  my  steps  I  bent, 
Ever  with  me  that  Dark  One  went 

With  heavy  footsteps  wearily. 
He  drank  my  cup  of  life  till  it  was  dry, 

He  weigh' d  upon  my  heart  till  it  grew  cold, 
He  touch 'd  my  eyelids  hot  and  heavily, 

And  nothing  smiled  as  it  had  smiled  of  old 

o 

I  laid  me  down  upon  a  woodland  bank, 
Where  the  breath  of  spring  came  slow  in  languid 
sighs, 

And  smiles  on  me 
Beam'd  tearfully 
From  out  the  holy  depths  of  violet  eye- : 

My  heart  within  me  sank. 
I  laid  me  down  upon  the  bank  and  wept : 

A  sleep,  which  was  not  Bleep,  came  o'er  my  soul, 


THE   THREE    TRANCES.  141 

Men  mourn'd  to  see  my  light  of  life  thus  fade ; 

Thej  knew  not  that  the  Ancient  One* 

That  shadow  o'er  my  soul  had  thrown, 
That  He  might  commune  with  me  in  the  shade. 

That  cloud  of  sleep  around  my  sense  did  roll, 
That  lie  might  come  to  me  in  visions  as  I  slept. 
They  knew  not  that  my  sleep  had  dreams — 

Dreams  to  which  all  that  seem  most  real  beside 
Are  but  as  lights  in  restless  waves  that  glide, 

The  changeful  image  of  most  changeful  gleams 

For  life  is  one  long  sleep, 
O'er  which  in  gusts  do  sweep 

Visions  of  heaven ; 
The  body  but  a  closed  lid, 
By  which  the  real  world  is  hid 
From  the  spirit  slumbering  dark  below, 
And  all  our  earthly  strife  and  woe, 
Tossings  in  slumber  to  and  fro, 

*  The  old  Lapland  appellation  for  God 


142  THE    THREE    TKA.N 

And  till  we  know  of  heaven  and  light 
In  visions  of  the  day  or  night 
To  us  is  given. 

I  talked  with  the  Ancient  One 
In  that  mysterious  seeming  slumber, 

Nor  yet  with  Uim  alone. 
But  blessed  spirits  without  number, 

Who  crowd  around  His  throne. 
And  loud  and  clear  the  tide  of  praises  swell : — 
Nor  only  in  that  lofty  sphere  they  dwell. 

But  round  His  children  throng, 
Invisibly  ever, 

And  pour  their  glorious  song, 
Though  audible  never, 
Save  when  at  evening,  in  the  solitude, 

When  not  a  breeze  has  stirred, 
A  quiver  thrills  through  all  the  silent  wood  ; 

Can  it  have  heard  ? 
0  what  a  drunkenness  of  joy  my  soul  doth  steep 
With  thought  of  the  unatter'd  visions  of  that  sleep  ! 


THE    THREE    TRANCES.  143 

And  I  have  been  since  then 

A  prophet  amongst  men  ; 

They  honor  me  as  one  whose  eyes 

Have  looked  upon  the  mysteries 

Of  the  true  world  where  spirits  dwell, 

To  whom  the  great  book  is  unrolled. 

0  !  if  thus  reverently  they  deem 

Of  the  poor  fragments  of  that  dream 

Which  can  in  human  words  be  told, 

What  would  they  think  of  that  [  cannot  tell  ? 

And  when  that  awful  slumber  broke, 

He  who  so  long  of  late 

Was  my  associate 
No  longer  closely  in  my  pathway  stood, 

But  in  the  sky, 

Heavily, 
Like   a    thunder    cloud   with    dusky    wings    did 

brood, 
And  to  something  of  my  former  life  I  woke. 


144  THE   THREE    IRAK 

The  sunny  laugh,  the  spring-tide  .sigh. 

The  blood-full  vein. 
The  hounding  step  the  beaming  eye. 

Came  not  again : 
Joys  that  too  quickly  came  and  fled, 

To  find  a  name. 
The  tears  that  started  in  my  eye, 

I  know  not  whence, 
And  ere  I  could  have  questioned  why 

Were  from  hence, — 
The  heart  that  danced  amongst  the  forms  of  spring, 
Like  them  a  joyous  growing  thing. — 
The3e  came  not,  yet  to  me  were  brought  : 
A  thousand  joys  too  deep  for  thought, 
For  unto  the  suffering  one 
God  sent  a  joy  of  His  own; 
And  the  storm  and  the  solitude 
Again  unto  my  soul  were  good. 
For  ever  in  the  silence  and  the  din 
The  unseen  spirits  talk'd  to  mine  within. 


THE    THREE    TRANCES.  145 

Yet  on  my  pathway  evermore 

That  heavy  cloud  doth  darkly  lower, 

Like  thunder -laden  air, 
Damping  each  transient  thought  of  mirth, 
Weighing  my  energies  to  earth, 

A  burden  hard  to  bear. 

And  sometimes  when  I've  seen 

My  brothers  dancing  round 

With  strength's  exulting  bound, 

Impatiently  my  heart  would  pray 

That  I  might  be  even  as  they, 

Even  as  I  had  been ; 

But  then  some  gentle  sprite  would  hover  by, 

And  breathe  a  high  and  cheering  word 

Such  as  the  heart's  deep  waters  stirrd, 

And  all  my  grief  would  melt  in  ecstasy. 

Nor  only  'neath  the  cloud, 

By  suffering,  is  my  spirit  bow'd, 

But  with  too  great  a  weight  of  glory, 

As  with  long  years  my  head  is  hoary, 
13 


11C  THE   THREE   TRANCES. 

This  feeble  frame  dissolves  away, 

Before  the  blaze  of  that  full  day  ; 
Life,  breathing  with  t  »o  strong  a  breath, 
Will  crush  this  body  into  death. 

And  twice  again  that  wondrous  guest 

Hath  come  close  to  my  side  as  of  old, 
Hath  laid  his  heavy  hand  upon  my  breast, 

Until  my  blood  ran  cold. 
Hath  hid  with  stifling  breath  again 

The  light  of  life  from  me, 
Hath  bound  me  with  a  threefold  chain 

That  draggeth  heavily, 
All  my  raptured  soul  to  steep 
In  the  sleep  which  is  not  sleep. 
To  me  he  is  no  more  unknown, 
His  face  has  all  familiar  grown, 
And  dearer  than  the  blessed  sun. 
For  with  him  comes  the  Ancient  One. 


THE   THREE   TRANCES.  147 

0,  come  to  me  once  more  ! 

Shadow  my  spirit  o'er ; 

Three  times  thy  hand  hath  been  on  me 

Heavily, 
Come  with  yet  heavier  grasp,  and  crush 

This  frame  to  dust ; 
Three  times  thy  breath  hath  dimm'd  my  light 

Into  night ; 
Come  and  breathe  on  it  mightily, 

Till  it  die. 
Three  times  the  cloud  of  sleep  o'er  my  soul 

Thou  didst  roll ; 
Come  now,  and  fix  the  shadow  there. 

Let  me  sleep  e'er, 
That  I  may  dream  those  visions  o'er 

Evermore. 
Nay  ;  with  loud'  voice  this  slumber  break, 

That  I  may  wake, 
And  be  with  the  Ancient  One 

By  His  throne. 


148  THE   THREE    TRAN 

Come  now,  and  with  no  feeble  hand, 

Strain  thy  band, 
Until  this  heavy  veil  be  riven, 

Which  shuts  my  spirit  from  the  light : 
Come,  Strong  One,  bear  my  soul  to  her 

And  crush  this  lid  which  shrouds  my  sight 
I  care  not  what  the  anguish  be. 

So  I  be  free  : 
Come,  choke  this  slow  and  laboring  breath, 
And  I  will  bless  thee,  Death. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  PRINCE 
CONSORT. 

Silently  springing  upward,  as  grow  the  things 

of  God, 
His   life  grew  up  among  us,   and  cast  its  shade 

abroad ; 

Silently,  as  the  sapling  grows  to  the  forest  oak  ; — 
As  the  Temple  on  the  Hill  of  God,  profaned  by 
no  rude  stroke.* 

Silently,  as  the  sun-light  deepens  through  all  the 

air, 
Till,  scarcely  thinking  whence  it  comes,  we  feel  it 

everywhere ; — 

*  A  comparison  used  in  the  London  Times  in  reference  to  the 
Prince  Consort. 


150    ON  THE  DBATH  OF   THE  PRINCE  CONSORT. 

Yet  only  as  he  leaves  us,  we  gaze  upon  the  sun, 
And  as  we  say,    "  How  beautiful  !"   he  set< 
day  is  done. 


Silently  pressing  onward,  as  work  the  men  of  God, 
The  lowly  path  of  duty,  on  the  dizzy  heights  he 
trod. — 

Gifted  with  powers  which  meaner  men  with  fadeless 

bays  have  crowned ; 
"With  a  poet's  sense  of  beauty  in   hue,  and  form, 

and  sound  ; 

Steadfastly,  as  for  life  or  fame. — yet  not  for  self. — 

he  wrought  : 
But  royally  for  others  spent  strength,   and  time, 

and  thought ; 

In  guiding  other  men  to  fame, — showing  what  fame 

should  be, — 
Inspiring  other  men  to  do,  and  training  them  to  see  ; 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  PRINCE  CONSORT.     151 

Lightening  the  heart  of  genius  from  the  crippling 

load  of  care  ; 
Making  poor  men's  homes  more  home-like,  and  all 

men's  homes  more  fair : 


Bringing  beauty,  like  the  sunshine,  into  common 

things,  and  small ; 
Ennobling  toil   for    working-men,   ennobling    life 

for  all ! 


In  lowly,  self-forgetful  works,  none  but  the  no- 
blest do, 

Till  few  among  the  mighty  have  left  a  fame  so 
true  ; 

Living  a  life  so  meekly  great  beside  an  empire's 

throne, 
That  the  humblest  man  among  us,  by  it  might 

mould  his  own ; 


152    OX  TIIH  DEATH  OP  THE  PRINCE  CONSORT. 

Dying,  to  bind  a  nation,  as  only  tears  can  bind, 
For  once,  with  all  its  myriad  aims,  one  home,  one 
heart,  one  mind  ; 

Crowned   by  an   empire's  sorrow,   mourning  from 

end  to  end  ; 
Wept  silently  in  countless  homes,  as  each  had  lo?t 

a  friend. 


Thus  silently  God  took  him,  early  ripened  in  his 

prime, 
From  the  echoes  and  the  shadows  of  these   dim 

shores  of  Time; 

To  the  Song  which  wakes  the  echoes,  broken  here 

by  din  and  strife ; 
To  the  Light  which  casts  the  shadows,  the  Light 

in  whom  is  lite  ; 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  PRINCE  CONSORT.  153 

To  the  Throne  for  us  abandoned  once,  for  the  Cross, 

and  shame,  and  pain ; 
To  the  One  who  sits  there  evermore, — the  One  who 

has  been  slain ; 
«4 
To  the  living,  loving  Fountain  of  all  great,  and 

good,  and  fair, — 
To  dwell  with  Him  for  ever,  and  be  made  perfect 

there ! 

And   e'en    from  such  a  home  as  his,   where   all 

earth's  best  was  blent, 
Can  we  doubt,  when   God  thus   called  him,  thai 

willingly  he  went  ? 


But  for  that  perfect  home   his   loss  has   left  so 

desolate, 
And  for  that  woe,  made  matchless  by  years  of  joy 

so  great. 


154     ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE   PRIN(  UT. 

Thy  people  would  have  shed  their  blood  this  woe 

from  thee  to  keep  : 
But  now  what  can  thy  nation  do.  our  Queen,  for 

thee  but  weep ! 

Yet,  has  not  God  his  balms  for  pain  nothing  on 

earth  can  still  : 
Balms  which   can   pluck  the  sting  from   grief. — 

balms  which  its  void  can  fill  ? 

The  first  to  take  the  sting  away, — "  Fear  not.  for 

I  am  love ; 
He  is  with  me,  and  I  with  thee  :  and  it   is  Home 

above  !" 

The  second,  when  the  anguish  so  keen,  and  new, 

and  strange, 
Has  sunk  into  the  slow,  dull  pain,  the  blank  that 

cannot  change ; 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  PRINCE  CONSORT.  155 

Then,  through  the  void  that  healing  Voice  breathes 

its  soft  balm  again, — 
"  Life  is  no  empty,  barren  waste,  and  grief  is  not 

in  vain  !" 


Empty  for  none;    and  least  of  all,    Mother  and 

Queen,  for  thee; 
Could  tears  but  tell  thee  what  thou  art  to  us,  and 

still  shalt  be ! 

What  it  has  been  to  Britain,  through  years   of 

storm  and  gloom, 
To  honour  in  her  highest  place,  for  a  chair  of 

state, — a  home  I 

Could' st  thou  but  know  the  healing  dews  of  honest, 

loving  tears, 
Which  flow  for  thee,  from  eyes  long  dried  by  the 

dull  weight  of  cares  ; 


156    ox  Tin:  death  of  the  prince  consort. 

Or  how  the  love  thy  life  has  won  through  all  thy 

happy  years. 
Deepened    to   tendcrest    reverence,    now    soars    to 

heaven  in  prayers : 

Oh,  would  not  all  the  track  of  life,  which  seems  so 

long  to  grief, 
Filled  with  such  service  for  thy  land,  even  to  thee 

seem  brief? 

Jaxuaet,  1862. 


PAET    III. 

HYMNS  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 
14 


THE  WAY,  THE  TRUTH,  AND  THE  LIFE. 

Thou  art  the  Way  ! 
All  ways  are  thorny  mazes  without  Thee  ; 

Where  hearts  are  pierced,  and  thoughts  all  aim- 
less stray, 
In  Thee  the  heart  stands  firm,  the  life  moves  free  : 
Thou  art  our  Way  ! 

Thou  art  the  Truth  ! 
Questions  the  ages  break  against  in  vain 

Confront  the  spirit  in  its  untried  youth  ; 
It  starves  while  learning  poison  from  the  grain  : 
Thou  art  the  Truth  ! 


1G0       THE  WAY,  THE  TRUTH,  AXD  THE  LIFE. 

Thou  art  the  Truth! 
Truth  for  the  mind  grand,  glorious,  infinite. 

A  heaven  still  boundless  o'er  its  highest  growth  ; 
Bread  for  the  heart  its  daily  need  to  meet. 

Thou  art  the  Truth  ! 


Thou  art  the  Light ! 
Earth  beyond  earth  no  faintest  ray  can  give ; 
Heaven's  shadeless  noontide  blinds  our  mortal 
sight ; 
In  Thee  we  look  on  God,  and  love,  and  live  : 
Thou  art  our  Light  ! 

Thou  art  the  Rock  ! 
Doubts  none  can  solve  heave  wild  on  every  side, 
Wave   meeting   wave    of    thought   in    ceaseless 
shock ; 
On  Thee  the  soul  rests  calm  amidst  the  tide : 
Thou  bj  t  our  Rock  ! 


THE  WAY,  THE  TRUTH,  AND  THE  LIFE.       161 

Thou  art  the  Life  ! 
All  ways  without  Thee  paths  that  end  in  death  ; 

All  life  without  Thee  with  death's  harvest  rife ; 
All  truths  dry  bones,  disjoined,  and  void  of  breath. 

Thou  art  our  Life  ! 


For  Thou  art  Love  ! 
Our  Way  and  End  !  the  way  is  rest  with  Thee ! 

0  living  Truth,  the  truth  is  life  in  Thee  ! 
0  Life  essential,  life  is  bliss  with  Thee  ! 
For  Thou  art  Love  ! 

14' 


THE  PATHWAYS  OF  THE  HOLY  LAND. 

The  pathways  of  Thy  land  are  little  changed 

Since  thou  wert  there  ; 
The  busy  world  through  other  ways  has  ranged, 
And  left  these  bare. 

The  rocky  path  still  climbs  the  glowing  steep 
Of  Olivet, 

Though  rains  of  two  millenniums  wear  it  deep. 
Men  tread  it  yet. 

Still  to  the  gardens  o'er  the  brook  it  leads. 

Quiet  and  low  ; 
Before  his  sheep  the  Shepherd  on  it  treads, 

His  voice  they  know. 


THE    PATHWAYS   OF    THE    HOLY   LAND.       163 

The  wild  fig  throws  broad  shadows  o'er  it  still. 

As  once  o'er  Thee ; 
Peasants  go  home  at  evening  up  that  hill 

To  Bethany. 

And  as  when  gazing  Thou  didst  weep  o'er  them, 

From  height  to  height 
The  white  roofs  of  discrown' d  Jerusalem 

Burst  on  our  sight. 

These  ways  were  strew'd  with  garments  once  and  palm 

Which  we  tread  thus ; 
Here  through  Thy  triumph  on  Thou  passedst,  calm, 

On  to  Thy  cross. 

The  waves  have  wash'd  fresh  sands  upon  the  shore 

Of  Galilee ; 
But  chisell'd  in  the  hill-sides  evermore 

Thy  paths  we  see. 


164     Tin;  pathways  of  the  holy  land. 

Man  has  not  changed  them  in  that  Blamb'ring  land. 

Nor  time  effaced  : 
Where  Thy  feet  trod  to  bless  we  still  may  stand  : 

All  can  be  traced. 


Yet  we  have  traces  of  Thy  footsteps  far 

Truer  than  these  : 
Where'er  the  poor,  and  tried  and  suffering  are, 

Thy  steps  faith  sees. 

Nor  with  fond  sad  regrets  Thy  steps  we  trace ; 

Thou  art  not  dead  ! 
Our  path  is  onward,  till  we  see  thy  face. 

And  hear  thy  tread. 

And  now.  wherever  meets  Thy  lowliest  band 

In  praise  and  prayer. 
There  is  Thy  presence,  there  Thy  TToly  Land, 

Thou,  Thou,  art  there  ! 


VEILED  ANGELS. 

OR  AFFLICTIONS. 

Unnumber'd  blessings,  rich  and  free, 
Have  come  to  us,  our  God.  from  Thee. 

Sweet  tokens  written  with  Thy  name, 
Bright  angels  from  Thy  face  they  came. 

Some  came  with  open  faces  bright. 
Aglow  with  heaven's  own  living  light. 

And  some  were  veil'd,  trod  soft  and  slow, 
And  spoke  in  voices  grave  and  low. 

Veil'd  angels,  pardon  !  if  with  fears 
We  met  you  first,  and  many  tears. 


166  VEILED    AXGELS. 

We  take  you  to  our  hearts  no  less  ; 
We  know  ye  come  to  teach  and  ble33. 

We  know  the  love  froni  which  ye  come  ; 
We  trace  you  to  our  Father's  home. 

We  know  how  radiant  and  how  kind 
Your  faces  are,  those  veils  behind. 

We  know  those  veils,  one  happy  day, 
In  earth  or  heaven,  shall  drop  away ; 

And  we  shall  see  you  as  ye  are. 
And  learn  why  thus  ye  sped  from  far. 

But  what  the  joy  that  day  shall  be, 
We  know  not  yet :  we  wait  to  see. 

For  this,  0  angels,  well  we  know, 
The  way  ye  came  our  souls  shall  go  : 


VEILED    ANGELS.  167 

Up  to  the  love  from  which  ye  come, 
Back  to  our  Father's  blessed  home. 

And  bright  each  face,  unveil' d,  shall  shine, 
Lord  when  the  Veil  is  rent  from  Thine  ! 


THE  WORD  OF  LIFE. 

"  We  are  His  workmanship,  created  in  Christ  Jesus  anto  >joo<1 

We  know  there  once  was  One  on  earth 

Who  penetrated  all  He  saw. 
To  whom  the  lily  had  its  worth, 

And  Nature  bared  her  inmost  law. 
And  when  the  mountain-side  He  trod. 

The  universe  before  Him  shone, 
Translucent  in  the  smile  of  God, 

Like  young  leaves  in  the  morning  sun. 
Glory  which  Greece  had  never  won. 
To  consecrate  her  Parthenon. 

Nature  her  fine  transmuting  powers 
Laid  open  to  His  piercing  ken  : 

The  life  of  insects  and  of  flower  3  : 

The  lives,  and  hearts,  and  minds  of  men  : 


THE   WORD    OF   LIFE.  169 

Depths  of  the  geologic  past, 

The  mission  of  the  youngest  star: — 

No  mind  had  ever  grasp  so  vast, 
No  science  ever  dived  so  far. 

All  that  our  boldest  guess  sees  dim 

Lay  clearly  visible  to  Him. 

Had  He  but  uttered  forth  in  song 

The  visions  of  His  waking  sight, 
The  thoughts  that  o'er  His  soul  would  throng, 

Alone  upon  the  hills  at  night ; 
What  poet's  loftiest  ecstacies 

Had  stirred  men  with  such  rapturous  awe 
As  would  those  living  words  of  His, 

Calm  utterance  of  what  He  saw  ! 
All  earth  had  on  those  accents  hung, 
All  ages  with  their  echoes  rung. 

But  He  came  not  alone  to  speak, 

He  came  to  live.  He  came  to  die : 
15 


170  THE    WORD    OF    LIFE. 

Living,  a  long  lost  race  to  seek  ; 

Dying,  to  raise  the  fallen  high, 
lie  came,  Himself  the  living  Word, 

The  Godhead  in  His  person  shone  : 
But  few  and  poor  were  those  who  heard, 

And  wrote  His  words  when  lie  was  gone,— 
Words  children  to  their  hearts  can  clasp, 
Yet  angels  cannot  wholly  grasp. 

But  where  those  simple  words  were  flung, 

Like  raindrops  on  the  parched  green, 
A  living  race  of  poets  sprung,     . 

Who  dwelt  among  the  things  unseen ; 
Who  loved  the  fallen,  sought  the  1 

Yet  saw  beneath  time's  masks  and  shrouds, 
Whose  life  was  one  pure  holocaust, 

Death  but  a  breaking  in  the  clouds  : 
His  volume  as  the  world  was  broad. 
His  Poem  was  the  Church  of  God. 


NOT  GRUDGINGLY,  OR  OF  NECESSITY 

THE  MIRACLE  AT  THE  MARRIAGE   FEAST. 

The  Hand  that  strews  the  earth  with  flowers 
Enrich' d  the  marriage  feast  with  wine; 

The  Hand  once  pierced  for  sins  of  ours 
This  morning  made  the  dew-drops  shine ; 

Makes  rain-clouds  palaces  of  art, 

Makes  ice-drops  beauteous  as  they  freeze ; 

The  heart  that  bled  to  save, — that  heart 
Sends  countless  gifts  each  day  to  please ; 

Spares  no  minute  refining  touch 

To  paint  the  flower,  to  crown  the  feast, 

Deeming  no  sacrifice  too  much ; 
Has  care  and  leisure  for  the  least ; 


172       NOT   GRUDGINGLY,    OR   OF    KBCBSSTIT. 

Gives  freely  of  its  very  best. 

Not  barely  what  the  need  may  be, 
But  for  the  joy  of  making  bless' d — 

Teach  us  to  love  and  give  like  Thee  ! 

Not  narrowly  men's  claims  to  measure, 
But  question  daily  all  our  powers  : 

To  whose  cup  can  we  add  a  pleasure  ? 

"Whose  path  can  we  make  bright  with  flowers  ? 


DURABLE  RICHES. 

The  meanest  creature  of  His  care 
Finds  some  soft  nest  to  greet  it  made, 

The  hunted  beast  has  yet  its  lair ;  — 
He  had  not  where  to  lay  His  head. 

And  scarce  a  little  child  that  dies 
But  has  its  treasured  things  to  share ; 

Its  little  store  of  legacies 

Love  hoards  thenceforth  with  sacred  care. 

He  left  no  treasure  to  divide  ; 

E'en  the  poor  garments  which  He  wore 

Were  shared  by  strangers  ere  He  died, 

For  their  own  worth,  and  nothing  more. 
15* 


'±  DURABLE    RICHES. 

Yet  when  the  first  disciples  trod 
Vineyards  and  fields  of  other  men. 

Pilgrims  beside  the  Son  of  God, 

Had  royal  grants  enriched  them  then  ? 

Or  when,  on  His  ascension-day, 

They  stood  once  more  on  Olivet. 
And  town  and  village  :neath  them  lay, 

Gems  in  their  vines  and  olives  set. — 

Nor  vines  or  olives,  house  or  lands, 

They  own'd  those  hills  and  valleys  o'er. 

Yet,  when  Christ  lifted  up  His  hands 

And  bless'd  them,  were  those  Christians  poor? 

If  of  that  world  which  is  His  own, 
Where  every  knee  to  Him  shall  bow, 

Some  special  ;icres  each  had  won. 
Had  they  been  richer  then,  or  now? 


THE  CRUSE  THAT  FAILETH  NOT. 

"It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive." 

Is  thy  cruse  of  comfort  wasting  ?  rise  and  share  it 

with  another, 
And  through  all  the  years  of  famine  it  shall  serve 

thee  and  thy  brother  ; 

Love  Divine  will  fill  thy  storehouse,  or  thy  hand- 
ful still  renew ; 

Scanty  fare  for  one  will  often  make  a  royal  feast 
for  two. 


For  the  heart  grows  rich  in  giving ;  all  its  wealth 

is  living  grain ; 
Seeds,  which  mildew  in  the  garner,  scatter' d,  fill 

with  gold  the  plain. 


17G     THE  CRUSE  THAT  FAILETH  NOT. 

Is  thy  burden  bard  and  heavy  ?  do  thy  steps  drag 
wearily  ? 

Help  to  bear  thy  brother's  burden  ;  God  will 
both  it  and  thee. 


Numb  and  weary  on  the  mountains;  wouldst  thou 

sleep  amidst  the  snow  ? 
Chafe  that  frozen  form  beside  thee,  and  together 

both  shall  glow. 

Art  thou  stricken  in  life's  battle  ?     Many  wounded 

round  thee  moan  ; 
Lavish  on  their  wounds  thy  balsams,  and  that  balm 

shall  heal  thine  own. 

Is  the  heart  a  well  left  empty  ?     None  but  God  its 

void  can  fill ; 
Nothing  but  a  ceaseless  Fountain  can  its  ceaseless 

lomnmrs  still. 

o     o 


THE   CKUSE   THAT   FAILETH    NOT.  177 

Is   the   heart   a   living   power?   self-entwin'd,  its 

strength  sinks  low ; 
It  can  only  live  in  loving,  and  by  serving  love  will 

grow. 


ONLY  THAT  THE  SUN  IS  COMING 


Shall  the  summer  have  no  singing  ? 

Shall  so  much  of  good  be  given. 
And  no  sweet  return  of  praises 

Rise  to  meet  the  songs  of  heaven  ? 


All  my  life,  from  morn  till  even, 
So  with  happy  cares  be  fraught. 

That  a  slumbrous  spell  of  silence 

Chains  the  deeper  founts  of  thought  ? 

So  I  mused  one  summer  morning, 
When  sweet  songs  the  silence  stirr'd, 

Filling  all  the  air  with  gladness, 
From  a  little  cased  bird. 


ONLY   THAT  THE   SUN   IS   COMING.  179 

No  especial  pomp  of  sunrise 

Woke  that  early  joyous  hymn  ; 
No  peculiar  fount  of  blessing 

Gush'd  that  morning  fresh  for  him. 

Only  that  the  sun  is  coming, 

Rising  slowly  o'er  the  hill, 
This  familiar  joy  sufficing 

All  his  happy  heart  to  fill. 

Only  that  the  sun  is  coming, — 

All  the  world's  dear  light  and  his, — 

Therefore,  o'er  the  still  grey  morning 
Flows  his  song  in  ecstasies. 

Yet  his  sun,  this  night  departing, 

Leaves  him  caged  and  desolate  ; 
Whilst  our  Sun,  in  glory  rising, 

Bursts  the  cage,  and  shall  not  set ; 


180  ONLY    THAT    THE    BUM    IS    COMING. 

Breaks  the  bars,  unveils  the  eyesight, 
Sets  us  free  to  gaze  and  soar, 

Free  for  tireless  song  and  service 
In  the  day  that  dies  no  more. 

Only  that  the  Sun  is  coming  ! 

Had  we  not  a  joy  but  this. 
Should  not  speech  o'erflow  in  singing, 

And  the  heart  be  still  in  blks  ? 


THE  FOLD  AND  THE  PALACE. 

THE    FOLD. 

There  is  a  fold,  once  dearly  bought, 

But  open'd  now  to  all, 
Reaching  from  regions  high  as  thought, 

Low  as  our  race  can  fall. 

Far  up  among  the  sunny  hills, 
Where  breaks  the  earliest  day  ; 

Down  where  the  deepest  shadow  chills 
The  wanderer's  downward  way. 

There  some  have  seen  a  Shepherd  stand, 

Who  guards  it  day  and  night ; 

Mightier  than  all,  His  gentle  hand, 

His  eyes  the  source  of  light. 
16 


182  THE   FOLD    AND   THE    PALACE. 

I  know,  the  feeblest  that  have  e'er 
Enter' d  those  precincts  bl< 

Find  everlasting  safety  there. 
Freedom  and  life  and  rest. 

But  I  have  wander d  far  astray, 
Blinded  and  wearied  sore ; 

How  can  I  find  the  plainest  way, 
Or  reach  the  nearest  door  ? 


The  silence  with  a  voice  is  fraught,  - 
When  did  I  hear  that  tone  ? — 

Awful  as  thunder,  soft  as  thought, 
Familiar  as  mine  own. 


"lam  the  Door,"  those  words  begin  ; 

I  press  towards  that  voice, 
And,  ere  I  know  it,  am  within, 

And  all  within  rejoice. 


THE  FOLD  AXD  THE  PALACE.       183 
THE  PALACE. 

There  is  a  Palace  vast  and  bright ; 

Athwart  the  night's  cold  gloom 
Stream  its  soft  music  and  warm  light, — 

A  Palace,  jet  a  Home. 

The  guests  who  are  invited  there 

Are  call'd  therein  to  dwell ; — 
"Laden  with  sin,  oppress'd  with  care," 

The  calling  suits  me  well. 

They  say  none  ever  knock'd  in  vain, 

Yet  I  have  often  tried, 
And  scarce  have  strength  to  try  again, — 

Will  one,  then,  he  denied  ? 

Again  that  voice  my  spirit  thrills, 

So  strange,  yet  so  well  known, 
Divine,  as  when  it  rent  the  hills, 

Yet  human  as  my  own. 
15 


184  THE   FOLD   AND    THE    PALACE. 

The  golden  portals  softly  melt 
Like  clouds  around  the  sun. 

And  where  they  stood,  and  where  I  knelt, 
Behold  that  matchless  One  ! 

He  pleads  for  me,  He  pleads  with  mo, 

He  hears  ere  I  can  call ; 
Jesus  !  my  first  step  is  to  Thee, 

And  Thy  first  gift  is  all! 


THE  TWO  REPROACHES. 

Thy  voice  made  rocks  Thy  fountains ;  ocean  waves 

A  wall  around  Thy  chosen ;  desert  caves 

Their  temples ;  flames  their  car  of  victory. 

Thy  touch  made  lepers  pure  as  infancy. 

Thy  word  lulls  storms  to  sleep,  like  babes  at  play  : 

Or,  as  they  rage,  bids  them  white  chrisoms  lay 

For  flowers.  Thy  smile  makes  tears  of  sinful  men 

The  joy  of  angels.     Shall  we  wonder,  then, 

That  blinded  hate,  and  envy  mask'd  in  scorn, 

Twining  for  Thee  the  crown  of  sharpest  thorn, 

But  wove  a  wreath  of  glory  for  Thy  brow  ; 

And  broken  hearts,  which  sins  and  sorrows  bow, 

Scanning  through  all  the  heaven  of  Thy  Word 

Some  special  guiding-star  of  hope  to  see ; 

And  angels,  searching  tributes  for  their  Lord, 

Finding  these  words  of  those  that  hated  Thee, 
16* 


1SG  THE   TWO    REPROACHED 

"  This  man  receiveth  sinners."  and  again 
(Written  in  blood  earth's  darkest  record  «.' 
"  He  saved  others"  pause  and  search  no  more 
Both  finding  all  they  sought  gaze  and  adore. 


SUGGESTED  BY  THE  PROMETHEUS  BOUND. 

Thy  tortures  made  no  lament, 
No  pity  with  their  task  was  blent  • 
Thy  cup  of  anguish  was  unmix'd, 
And  human  hands  Thy  hands  transfix'd, 
0  Thou  who  lovedst  man  ! 

No  ocean  beam'd  Thine  eyes  before, 
With  "countless  laughter"  dimpled  o'er, 
But  heavings  of  an  angry  sea 
Of  human  faces  mocking  Thee, 

0  Thou  who  lovedst  man  ! 

No  "  fragrant  stir  of  heavenly  wings," 
But  mockeries  and  murmurings  ; 
No  depths  divine  of  azure  sky, 
But  darkness  dread  received  Thy  cry, 
0  Thou  who  lovedst  man  ! 


188  SUGGESTED  BY  THE  PROMETHEUS  BOUND. 

Yet  was  Thy  cry  of  agony 
Earth's  first  true  peal  of  victory, 
Hushing  the  world-old  blasphemy, 
That  God  gives  good  reluctantly, 
0  God  who  lovedst  man  ! 

Since  Thou  thus  sufferedst  to  fulfil 
Willing  the  Father's  loving  will, 
And  lifting  off  the  load  of  sin 
Let  the  free  tide  of  love  flow  in, 

0  Thou  who  lovedst  man  ! 

The  Fount  of  Fire  for  us  is  won. 
Since  Life  and  Light  in  Thee  are  one. 
Thy  bonds  have  made  the  fetter  \1  free. 
And  man  unbound  Love  binds  to  Thee, 
0  Christ  who  lovedst  us  ! 


EUREKA. 

Come  and  rejoice  with  me  ! 

For  once  my  heart  was  poor, 
And  I  have  found  a  treasury 

Of  love,  a  boundless  store. 

Come  and  rejoice  with  me  ! 

I  who  was  sick  at  heart, 
Have  met  with  One  who  knows  my  case. 

And  knows  the  healing  art. 

Come  and  rejoice  with  me  ! 

For  I  was  wearied  sore, 
And  I  have  found  a  mighty  arm 

Which  holds  me  evermore. 


190  EUREKA. 

Come  and  rejoice  'with  me  ! 

My  feet  so  wide  did  roam, 
And  One  has  sought  m3  from  afar, 

And  beareth  me  s  fe  home. 

Come  and  rejoice  with  me  ! 

For  I  have  found  a  Friend 
Who  knows  my  heart's  most  secret  depths, 

Yet  loves  me  without  end. 


I  knew  not  of  His  love, 
And  He  had  loved  so  long, 

With  love  so  faithful  and  so  deep. 
So  tender  and  so  strong. 


And  now  I  know  it  all, 

Have  heard  and  know  His  voice, 
And  hear  it  still  from  day  to  day  ; — 

Can  I  enough  rejoico  ? 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER. 

No  Gospel  like  this  Feast 

Spread  for  Thy  Church  by  Thee, 

Nor  prophet  nor  evangelist 
Preach  the  glad  news  so  free. 

Picture  and  Parable  ! 

All  Truth  and  Love  Divine, 
In  one  bright  point  made  visible, 

Hence  on  the  heart  they  shine. 

All  our  Redemption  cost, 

All  our  Redemption  won ; 
All  it  has  won  for  us,  the  lost, 

All  it  cost  Thee,  the  Son.    - 


102        THE    GOSPEL   IN   THE    LORD'S   SUPPER. 

Thine  was  the  bitter  price, — 
Ours  is  the  free  gift  given  ; 

Thine  was  the  blood  of  sacrifice, 
Ours  is  the  wine  of  heaven. 

For  Thee  the  burning  thirst, 
The  shame,  the  mortal  strife, 

The  broken  heart,  the  side  transpierced  ;■ 
To  us  the  Bread  of  Life. 

To  Thee  our  curse  and  doom 

TVrapp'd  round  Thee  with  our  sin, 

The  horror  of  that  midday  gloom, 
The  deeper  night  within. 

To  us  Thy  Home  in  light, 

Thy  "  Come,  ye  blessed,  come  !'' 

Thy  bridal  raiment,  pure  and  white, 
Thy  Father's  welcome  home. 


THE    GOSPEL   IN    THE   LORD'S   SUPPER.        193 

Here  we  would  rest  midway 

As  on  a  sacred  height. 
That  darkest  and  that  brightest  Day 

Meeting  before  our  sight ; 

From  that  dark  depth  of  woes 

Thy  love  for  us  hath  trod, 
Up  to  the  heights  of  bless'd  repose 

Thy  love  prepares  with  God  : 

Till,  from  self's  chains  released, 

One  sight  alone  we  see, 
Still  at  the  Cross  as  at  the  Feast, 

Behold  Thee,  only  Thee  ! 


ON  A  BAPTISM. 


"The  waves  of  this  troublesome  worlT 


Near  the  shore  the  bark  lay  floating,  by  the  sunny 

-waves  caress' d, 
With  the  darling  we  were  watching  cradled  in  a 

dreamy  rest. 

But,  borne  o'er  that  heaving  ocean,  wilder  sounds 

our  gladness  check. 
Stormy  winds  and  human  wailings  ;  Ah  !   that  sea 

bears  many  a  wreck. 

Fear  not !  hopes  no  strength  could  warrant  to  the 
feeblest  faith  are  given  : 

Looking  forward  strains  the  eyesight,  looking  up- 
ward opens  heaven. 


ON    A    BAPTISM.  195 

Deeper  than  that  ocean's  tempests,  softer  than  its 

murmurs  be, 
Breathes  a  Voice,  a  Voice  thou  knowest,  "  Trust 

thy  little  one  to  Me." 

Thou  hast  brought  thy  babe  to  Jesus ;  He  hath 

seen  her,  He  hath  bless'd ; 
In  His  arms  thy  faith  hath  laid  her,  and  He  bears 

her  on  His  breast. 

Gently  on  thy  sleeping  darling,  eyes,  the  light  of 

heaven,  shine  ; 
Mother,  by  the  love  thou  knowest,  measure  His;  it 

passeth  thine. 


NEW  YEAR'S  HYMN. 

What  marks  the  dawning  of  the  year 

From  any  other  morn  ? 
No  festal  garb  doth  nature  wear 

Because  a  Year  is  born. 

The  sky  is  not  more  full  of  light, 

The  air  more  full  of  song, 
And  silent  from  the  caves  of  night 

Glide  the  grey  hours  along. 

And  I,  to  whose  awaken'd  eyes 
So  fair  this  morn  appears, — 

How  know  I  where  to-morrow  lies  ? 
God  grants  not  life  by  yeaj*s. 


197 


Father  !  to-day  upon  my  head 

Thy  hand  in  blessing  lay  ; 
Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread, 

Renew  our  hearts  to-day. 

Our  Lord  and  Saviour  !  all  we  ask 
Is  that,  through  Thee,  forgiven, 

To  us  each  day  our  daily  task, 
Our  daily  strength  be  given. 

That  when  at  last  the  Trump  of  Doom 

Sends  its  long  peal  abroad, 
We,  glad  within  Thy  heavenly  home, 

May  keep  the  Day  of  God. 


SUNDAY  EVENING  HYMN. 

Another  day  of  heavenly  rest, 

And  angels'  toil  is  ended, 
And  to  the  chorus  of  the  bit 

The  last  hymn  has  ascended. 
Tranquil  as  an  infant's  sleep 

Eve  shadows  cot  and  meadow ; 
Let  Thy  peace  with  calm  as  deep 

The  wearied  spirit  shadow. 

As  of  old  the  apostle  band 

All  their  labors  bore  Thee. 
Lowly  at  thy  feet  we  stand, 

Lay  our  work  before  Thee. 
Pardon  Thou  the  imperfect  deed, 

Crown  the  weak  endeavor. 
Prosper  Thou  the  heavenly  seed, 

Work  Thou  with  us  ever. 


SUNDAY   EVENING   HYMN.  199 

Thou  know'st  how  sin  and  error  e'er 

In  all  our  efforts  mingle, 
How  seldom  mortal  eye  is  clear, 

Or  human  purpose  single. 
Let  Thy  blood,  0  dying  Lord, 

Blot  out  all  our  evil ; 
Let  Thy  touch,  0  living  Word, 

All  our  errors  shrivel. 

Let  Thy  lambs  we  sought  to  feed 

By  Thy  hand  be  nourish' d  ; 
Let  them  be  Thy  lambs  indeed, 

In  thy  bosom  cherish'd. 
To  the  griefs  we  cannot  reach 

Breathe  Thou  consolation ; 
To  the  hearts  we  cannot  teach 

Bring  Thou  Thy  salvation. 

May  the  tone  of  this  day's  prayers 
Vibrate  through  the  seven  j 
10* 


200  SUNDAY    EVENING    HYMN. 

Sabbaths,  work-days,  pleasures,  tears, 

Mould  us  all  for  heaven. 
That  taking  thus  each  joy  and  woe 

As  Thy  gifts  parental, 
To  us  life's  daily  bread  may  grow 

Viands  sacramental. 


EARLY  RISING  HYMN. 

Wake  !  the  costly  hours  are  fleeting 

Wake,  arise ! 
Wake,  and  let  light's  joyous  greeting 

Hail  thine  eyes ! 
God  to  thee  an  angel  sendeth, 
From  the  azure  heavens  descendeth 

Fresh  as  May 

The  new-born  Day. 

On  her  head  a  crown  she  weareth, 

With  blessings  rife ; 
In  her  hands  a  cup  she  beareth, 

A  cup  of  life. 
Every  drop  of  its  full  measure 
Is  a  pearl  of  heavenly  treasure : 

Haste ;  arise ! 

Claim  the  prize ! 


202  EARLY    RISING    BTMN. 

Let  some  drops  in  free  libation 

First  be  pour"d, 
Pourd  in  lowly  adoration 

To  thy  Lord  ! 
To  Him  who  bore  such  anguish  for  thee. 
Him  who,  risen,  watcheth  o'er  thee, 

Wake  and  raise 

Songs  of  praise ! 

Where  the  watch  thou  should' st  be  keeping  ? 

Child  of  day ! 
Saints  are  weeping,  sinners  sleeping. 

Rise  and  pray  ! 
Think  what  Night  is  deepening  o'er  thee, 
Think  what  Morning  lies  before  thee. 

Child  of  Day, 

Rise  and  pray ! 

Saviour,  rouse  me,  nerve  me.  bless  me 
With  strength  divine  : 


EARLY   RISING   HYMN.  203 

Wholly  let  Thy  love  possess  me, — 

Me  and  Mine. 
Let  each  moment  soar  above 
Laden  with  some  work  of  love, 

Till  we  rise 

To  Thy  skies. 

That,  thus  knit  in  blessed  union, 

Lord,  to  Thee  ! 
Every  act  may  be  communion, 

Lord,  with  Thee  ! 
And  Thy  presence  ever  near  us 
May  o'er  each  temptation  cheer  us 

Thus  to  rise — 

Thus  to  rise  ! 


SOWING  IN  TEARS. 

TO   A    MISSIONARY    WHO    HAD    LABORED    MANY    YEARS   WITHOUT 
SEEING    ANY    RESULT. 

Ye  have  not  sowed  in  vain  ! 

Though  the  heavens  seem  as  br 
And,  piercing  the  crust  of  the  burning  plain, 

Ye  scan  not  a  blade  of  grass. 

Yet  there  is  life  within, 

And  waters  of  life  on  high  : 
One  morn  ye  shall  wake,  and  the  spring's  soft 

O'er  the  moisten*  d  fields  shall  lie ; 

Tears  in  the  dull,  cold  eye, 

Lidit  on  the  darkened  brow. 
The  smile  of  peace,  or  the  prayerful  sigh, 

Where  the  mocking  smile  sit^  now. 


SOWING   IN  TEARS.  205 

Went  ye  not  forth  with  prayer  ? 

Then  ye  went  not  forth  in  vain ; 
"  The  Sower,  the  Son  of  man,"  was  there, 

And  His  was  that  precious  grain. 

Ye  may  not  see  the  bud, 

The  first  sweet  signs  of  spring, 
The  first  slow  drops  of  the  quickening  shower 

On  the  dry,  hard  ground  that  ring ; 

But  the  harvest-home  ye  "11  keep, 

The  summer  of  life  ye  '11  share, 
When  they  that  sow  and  they  that  reap 

Rejoice  together  there  ! 
18 


THE  WELL  AT  SYCHAR. 

(OX    FINDING    IT    FILLED    UP   BY    THE    ARABS.) 

They  have  stopp'd  the  sacred  well  which  the  pa- 
triarchs dug  of  old, 

"Where  they  water'd  the  patient  flocks  at  noon, 
from  the  depths  so  pure  and  cold ; 

Where  the  Saviour  asked  to  drink,  and  found  at 

noon  repose : 
But  the  living  spring  He  open'd  then  no  human 

hands  ran  close. 

They  have  scattered  the  ancient  stones,  whore  at 

noon  He  sat  to  rest : 
None  ever  shall  rest  by  that  well  again,  and  think 

how  His  accents  bless'd; 


THE   WELL   AT   SYCHAR.  207 

But  the  Rest  for  the  burden' d  heart,  the  Shade  in 

the  weary  land, 
The  riven  Rock  with  its  living  streams,  for  ever 

unmoved  shall  stand. 

Earth  has  no  Temple  now,  no  beautiful  House  of 

God; 
Or  earth  is  all  one  temple-floor  which  those  sacred 

feet  hath  trod. 

But  in  heaven  there  is  a  Throne,  a  Home,  and  a 
House  of  prayer: 

Thyself  the  Temple,  Thyself  the  Sun  ;  our  pil- 
grimage endeth  there ! 

Njbi.otjs,  June,  1856. 


SONG  FOR  AN  INFANT  SCHOOL. 

Thus  we  sing  as  we  march,  and  we  march  as  we 

sing: 
And  the  joy  of  our  hearts  in  our  voices  shall  ring. 

The  little  birds  fill  all  the  air  with  their  glee. 
Yet  they  've  not  half  as  much  to  be  glad  of  as  we  : 
So  with  thrushes  and  blackbirds  we  '11  joyful  1 
All  thanks  to  our  Father,  all  praise  to  our  King. 

The  grasshopper  chirps  in  the  long  summer  _ 

The  frisking  lambs  bleul  in  the  fields  as  we  | 

So  with  woo  things  and  young  things  we  '11  joyfully 

sing 
All  thanks  to  our  Father,  all  praise  to  our  King. 


SONG  FOR  AN  INFANT  SCHOOL.     209 

The  river  shouts  glad  as  it  dances  along, 

The  little  stream  murmurs  a  sweet,  quiet  song  : 

So   with   rivers   and   streamlets    we  '11  joyfully 

sing 
All  thanks  to  our  Father,  all  praise  to  our  Ki"ag. 

The  breezes   sing   soft  'mid   the   thick  leaves  of 

June, 
E'en  the  hoarse  wintry  wind  tries  to  whistle  a  tune : 
So  with  soft  winds  and  strong  winds  we  '11  joyfully 

sing 
All  thanks  to  our  Father,  all  praise  to  our  King. 

Pleasant  songs  at  his  work  hums  the  blithe,  busy 

bee, 
And  we'll  not  be  less   blithe  or  less  busy  than 

he: 

So  with  all  busy  creatures  we  '11  joyfully  sing 

All  thanks  to  our  Father  all  praise  to  our  King. 
18* 


210  SONG   FOR   THE   INFANT   SCHOOL. 

Thus  God  gives  a  measure  of  gladness  to  all. 
And  a  share  of  His  praises  to  great  and  to  small . 
So  we  who  owe  most  Avill  most  thankfully  sing, 
And  our  voices,  though  weak,  to  His  footstool 


ALL  LIVE  UNTO  HIM. 

(For  a  Friend  on  the  Death  of  her  Little  Bey.) 

Thy  voice  is  not  hush'd,  darling,  though  to  me  its 

tones  are  still, 
And  have  left  a  silence  in  my  home  no  music  e'er 

can  fill ; 
There  is  a  place  within  God's  world  where  Thou 

art  heard,  my  boy, 
And  thy  words  are  words  of  praise,  and  thy  tones 

are  tones  of  joy. 

Thine  eyes  are  not  closed,  darling,  though  they  are 

closed  to  me, 
And  half  the  light  is  gone  with  them  from  all  the 

sights  I  see ; 


212  all  live  uirro  him. 

They  have  but  open'd  on  the  day,  the   day  that 

needs  no  rest, 
And  they  shine  like  happy  stars  in  the  heaven  of 

the  bless' d. 
Thy  spirit  has  not  pass'd  away,  no  sleep  its  vision 

shrouds ; 
It  has  but  pass'd  into  the  light,  the  light  beyond 

the  clouds. 

Thou  art  not  lonely,  darling,  though  so  lone  thou 

hast  left  me, 
Thousands  of  happy  spirits   love   and   rejoice  with 

thee : 
And  He  who  loved  the  little  ones,  and  tenderly 

caress1  d, 
Has  laid  thee  in  His  arms,  darling,  and  clasp'd  thee 

to  His  breast. 


WAITING. 

{Suggested  by  Trees  lending  over  a  Dry  Watercourse  near  Como.) 

It  will  come,  it  will  not  tarry !  we  shall  not  wait 

in  vain, 
With  a  burst  of  sudden  thunder,  or  the  trickling  of 

quiet  rain, 

A  tranquil  stream  of  blessing  will  well  around  our 

roots, 
And   the  thrill  of  life  will  vibrate  to  our  utmost 

budding  shoots. 

Or  when  all  the  land  is  silent,  lifeless,  and  sad,  and 

dumb, 
From  the  snowy  mountain-ranges  the  sound  of  joy 

will  come : 


214  WAITING. 

The  shock  of  the  ancient  battle  (for  the  storm,  not 

the  calm,  comes  first), 
And  from  the  unchain'd  glaciers  the  river  of  life 

will  burst, 

Ringing  new  peals  of  triumph  through  all  the  sul- 
try plain. 

For  the  light  and  the  life  must  conquer,  and  the 
dead  must  live  again. 

Therefore  with  loving  patience  we  bend  o'er  these 

channels  dumb, 
Awaiting  the  vanish'd  Presence,  and  the  Life  which 

is  to  come. 


A  SICK  CHILD'S  DREAM  OF  HEAVEN. 

Oh,  mother,  come  to  my  bed-side, 

For  God  in  love  has  given 
The  brightest,  happiest  dream  to  me  ; 

It  must  have  come  from  heaven. 

So,  mother,  lay  your  hand  in  mine, 

And  sit  beside  me  there ; 
I  am  too  weak  to  talk  aloud  ; 

I  love  to  feel  you  near. 

I  and  some  little  friends  of  mine 

Seem'd  walking  out  together 
Along  the  green  and  flowery  fields, 

In  glad  warm,  summer  weather  ; 


216     A  SICK  child's  dream  of  he  wen. 

Till  to  a  garden  bright  we  came, 

With  silver  gates  so  fair. 
Which  made  sweet  music  as  they  turn'd 

To  let  us  enter  there. 


And  flowers  of  every  form  and  hue 

Grew  all  that  garden  o'er  ; 
But  flowers  so  fair,  so  bright,  so  sweet 

I  never  saw  before. 

And  our  poor  Marianne  was  there, 

Who  died  some  weeks  ago, 
And  many  more  I've  heard  you  say 

Pass'd  through  great  pain  and  woe. 

But  now  no  tears  are  in  their  eyes, 

No  pain  is  on  their  brow ; 
You  would  not  think  they  could  have  wept. 

Were  you  to  see  them  now. 


A   SICK    CHILD'S   DREAM    OF   HEAVEN.      217 

With  golden  crowns  upon  their  heads, 

And  robes  of  dazzling  white, 
They  smiled  and  bid  us  welcome  there 

Into  that  garden  bright, 

And  show'd  us  golden  crowns  and  robes 

Which  we  one  day  should  wear  ; 
But  not  quite  yet,  till  we,  like  them, 

Had  pass'd  our  trial  here. 

But,  mother,  all  those  lovely  flowers, 
And  skies  which  knew  no  gloom, 

Did  not  make  half  the  blessedness 
Of  that  sweet  garden  home  ; 

Nor  yet  the  robe  of  snowy  white 

The  golden  diadem ; 

Nor  yet  the  band  of  blessed  friends 

Who  welcomed  us  to  them. 
19 


.   child's  DREAM  VEX. 

But  the  Lord  who  loved  the  little  ones 

Walk'd  through  that  happj 
I  heard  His  voice.  He  spoke  to  me,  — 

Mother.  I  saw  II, 's  face! 

And  I  am,  oh.  so  happy  now, 
Dear  mother,  weep  not  thus  ; 

I  know  He  has  a  crown  for  you, 
And  you  will  come  to  us. 

Oh,  do  not  cry :  I  cannot  grieve  : 
For  what  are  death  and  pain. 

If  we  may  only  hear  that  voice. 
And  see  that  Face  again  I 


TO  ONE  AT  REST. 

And  needest  thou  our  prayers  no  more,  safe  folded 

'mid  the  bless'd  ? 
How  changed  art  thou  since  last  we  met  to  keep 

the  day  of  rest ! 
Young  with  the  youth  of  angels,   wise  with  the 

growth  of  years; 
For  we  have  pass'd  since  thou  hast  gone  a  week  of 

many  tears, 
And  thou  hast  pass'd  a  week  in  heaven,  a  week 

without  a  sin, 
Thy  robes  made  white  in  Jesus'  blood,  all  glorious 

within. 

We  shall  miss  thee  at  a  thousand  turns  along  life's 

weary  track, 
Not  a  sorrow  or  a  joy,  but  we  shall  long  to  call 

thee  back, 


220  TO    ONE    AT    REST 

Yearn    for  thy   true   and    gentle    heart,   long  thy 

bright  smile  to  see, 
For  many  dear  and  true  are  left,   but    not: 

quite  like  thee  ! 
And  evermore  to  all  our  life  a  deeper  tone  is  given, 
For  a  playmate  of  our  childhood  has  cnter'd  into 

heaven. 

{low  wise,  and  great,  and  glorious,  thy  gentle  soul 

has  grown, 
Loving  as  thou  art  loved  by  God.  knowing  as  thou 

art  known ! 
Yet  in   that  world  thou  carest  yet  for  those  thou 

lov'dst  in  this  ; 
The  rich  man  did  in  torments,  and  wilt  not  thou  in 

bliss? 
For  sitting  at  the  Saviour's  feet,  and  gnzing  in  Hia 

face, 
Surely   thou  'It    not    unlearn    one    gentle    human 

gra 


TO    OXE   AT   REST. 

Human,  and  not  angelic,  the  form  He  deigns  to 

wear, 
Of  Jesus,  not  of  angels,  the  likeness  thou  shalt 

bear. 

At  rest  from  all  the  storms  of  life,  from  its  night- 
watches  drear, 

From  the  tumultuous  hopes  of  earth,  and  from  its 
aching  fear ; 

Sacred  and  sainted  now  to  us  is  thy  familiar  name : 

High  is  thy  sphere  above  us  now,  and  yet  in  this 
the  same ; 

Together  do  we  watch  and  wait  for  that  long- 
promised  day, 

When  the  Voice  that  rends  the  tombs  shall  call, 
"  Arise  and  come  away, 

My  Bride  and  my  Redeemed,  winter  and  night  are 
past, 

And  the  time  of  singing  and  of  light  has  come  to 


thee  at  last ;' 


19' 


222  TO   ONE   AT   REST. 

When  the  Family  is  gathe  I  the  Father's 

House  complete, 
And  we  and  thou,  beloved,  in  our  Father's  smile 
shall  meet. 


"  HE  SAVED  OTHERS." 

?vrHEN  scorn  and  hate,  and  bitter,  envious  pride 
IIuiTd  all  their  darts  against  the  Crucified, 
Found  they  no  fault  but  this  in  Him  so  tried  ? 
"  He  saved  others  !" 

Those  hands,  thousands  their  healing  touches  knew ; 
On  witber'd  limbs,  they  fell  like  heavenly  dew ; 
The  dead  have  felt  them,  and  have  lived  anew  : 
"He  saved  others !" 

The  blood  is  dropping  slowly  from  them  now; 
Thou  canst  not  raise  them  from  Thy  thorn-crowned 

brow, 
Nor  on  them  Thy  parch'd  lips  and  forehead  bow  : 
"  He  saved  others!" 


i224 


That  Voice  from   out  their   graves   the   dead  had 
stirr'd; 

<  Yush'd.  outcast  hearts  grew  joyful  as  they  heard  : 
For  every  woe  it  had  a  healing  word  : 

"He  saved  other-  '." 

For  all  Thou  hadst  deep  tones  of  sympathy  — 
Hast  Thou  no  word  for  this  Thine  agony  ? 
Thou  pitiedst  all :  doth  no  man  pity  Thee  ? 

"  He  saved  others  \n 

So  many  fetter d  hearts  Thy  touch  hath  freed, 
Physician !  and  Thy  wounds  unstaunch'd  must  bleed : 
Hast  Thou  no  balm  for  this  Thy  sorest  Q< 

"  He  saved  others  !" 

Lord  !  and  one  sign  from  Thee  could  rend  the  sky. 
One  word  from  Thee,  and  low  those  mockers  lie ; 
Thou  mak'st  no  movement,  interest  no  cry, 

And  savest  us. 


MARAH  AND  EMM. 

Three  long  days  of  desert  sunshine,  toiling  'neath 

those  scorching  beams, 
Three  long  nights  of  heavy  silence^  gladden' d  by 

no  sound  of  streams. 

Hear  the  waters  now  around  us,  see  them  sparkling 

in  the  sun  ! 
Surely  now  our  trial    ceaseth  ! — surely  now  our 

goal  is  won  ! 

Lips  long  parch' d  and  seal'd  in  silence  press  the 

joyous  waves  to  kiss  ; 
Eyes  whose  tears  were  dried  by  anguish  overflow 

with  tears  of  bliss ; 


II  Alt  A  II    AND    BUM. 

Toilwom  men.  themselves  untasting,  left  to  dearer 

lips  the  prize, 
Drinking  draughts  of  deeper   pleasure  from   the 
smile  of  grateful  eyes. 


But  a  moment  !  but  a  moment  may  the  rapturous 

dream  remain  ; 
But  a  moment !   from  the  nation   bursts  a  sob  of 

wildest  pain. 

Children  dash  the  bitter  waters  from  them  with  a 

moaning  cry ; 
Mothers,  by  the  mocking  fountains,  lay  their  little 

ones  to  die. 

Hearts  that  bore  the  trial  bravely,  with  this 

ter'd  hope  have  burst ; 
Streams   for  which   we  pray'd  and   waited,   bitter 

streams,  but  mock  our  thirst 


MARA II   AND    ELIM.  227 

Was  it  but  for  this  the  ocean,  parting,  bent  our  feet 

to  kiss, 
Fiercely  then  our  foes  o'erwhelming?    Were  our 

first-born  spared  for  this  ? 

Better  to  be  slaves  in  Egypt !  better  to  have  per- 
ish'd  there ! 

Better  ne'er  a  hope  have  tasted,  than  to  sink  in  this 
despair. 

Israel !  Israel  !  hush  thy  murmurs,  hide  thy  guilty 

head  in  dust ! 
He  who  is  the   Joy  of  heaven  feeleth   grief  in  thy 

distrust. 

Gently  to  thy  wails  He  answers,  "  I  am  He  that 

healeth  thee;" 
E'en  to-day  the  streams  thou  loathest  shall  thy  best 

refreshment  be. 


228  MAKA11    AND    BUM. 

And  to-morrow,  but  to-morrow,  He  thy  siii3so  often 

grie 
Trains  tliec  for.  and  storeth  for  thee,  joys  thy  heart 

can  scarce  conceive. 

Coolest  waters  leaping,  gushing  'neath  the  shade  of 

many  a  palm  ! 
Let  no   memory   of  murmurs    mar   for    thee    that 

blessed  calm. 

So  thy  Marah  shall  be  Elini.  and  thy  Elim  know 

no  fears, 
For  the  fount  of  deepest  gladness  spriugeth  nea 

place  of  tears. 


"  COME  AND  SEE." 

Rabbi,  where  dwellest  Thou  ? — Come  and  see." — John  i.  35  to  end. 

Mastek,  where  abidest  Thou  ? 

Lamb  of  God,  'tis  Thee  we  seek  ; 
For  the  wants  which  press  us  now 

Other  aid  is  all  too  weak. 
Canst  thou  take  our  sins  away  ? 

May  we  find  repose  in  Thee  ? 
From  the  gracious  lips  to-day, 

As  of  old,  breathes,  "  Come  and  see." 

Master,  where  abidest  Thou  ? 

We  would  leave  the  past  behind ; 

We  would  scale  the  mountain's  brow, 

Learning;  more  Thy  heavenly  mind. 
20 


2! 


Still  a  look  is  all  our  L 

The  tr  .  i  Thee  : 

From  the  Living  Truth  once  more 

Breathes  rhe  answer.  "  Come  and 


Master,  where  abidest  Thou? 

How  shall  we  thine  i  mage 
Bear  in  light  upon  our  brow, 

Stamp  in  love  upon  our  breast  ? 
Still  a  look  is  all  our  might ; 

Looking  draws  the  heart  to  Thee, 
Sends  us  from  the  absorbing  sight 

With  the  message.  ;:  Come  and  see.5 


Master,  where  abidest  Thou  ? 

All  the  spring?  of  life  are  low ; 
Sin  and  grief  our  spirits  bt 

And  we  wait  Thy  e  ill  to  go. 


231 


From  the  depths  of  happy  rest, 
Where  the  just  abide  with  Thee  ; 

From  the  Voice  which  makes  them  bless'd 
Comes  the  summons,  "  Come  and  see." 


Christian,  tell  it  to  thy  brother, 

From  life's  dawning  to  its  end ; 
Every  hand  may  clasp  another, 

And  the  loneliest  bring  a  friend ; 
Till  the  veil  is  drawn  aside, 

And  from  where  her  home  shall  be 
Bursts  upon  the  enfranchised  Bride 

The  triumphant  "  Come  and  see  I" 


"MY  STRENGTH   AND  MY  HEART 
FAILETiL 

In  weakness  at  Thy  feet  I  lie, 
Thine  eye  each  pang  hath  seen, 

Scarce  can  I  lift  my  heart  on  high, 
Yet,  Lord,  on  Thee  I  lean  : 


Lean  on  Thy  sure,  unfailing  word, 

Thy  gentle  "It  is  I;" 
For  Thou,  my  ever-living  Lord, 

Know'st  what  it  is  to  die. 

Thou  wilt  be  with  me  when  I  go,— 
Thy  life  my  life  in  death  ; 

For,  in  the  lowest  depths,  I  know 
Thine  arms  are  underneath. 


"  MY  STRENGTH  AND  MY  HEART  FAILETH."  238 

'Tis  not  the  infant's  feeble  grasp 
Which  holds  the  mother  fast ; 

It  is  the  mother's  gentle  clasp 
Around  her  darling  cast. 

Just  so  Thy  child  would  cling  to  Thee, 

Knowing  Thy  pity  long  ; 
For  feeble  as  my  faith  may  be, 

The  hand  I  clasp  is  strong. 
20* 


REST  FOR  THE  HEAVY  LADEN 


Come  unto  Me,  all   ye  that   labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and   I  will    pivs 
you  rest."' — Matt. 


Silence  in  heaven  and  earth  ! 

The  hush  of  love  or  fear  ! 
His  voice  the  Highest  sendeth  forth ; 

The  still  small  voice  is  here. 
The  world's  hoarse  murmurs  under, 

Its  loudest  din  above, 
It  speaks th  not  in  thunder, 

But  in  words,  and  the  tone  is  love. 
It  calls,  and  a  gift  it  offers  : 

To  whom  are  those  words  addn 
"  Come,  ye  that  are  hedvy  laden, 

And  I  will  give  you  rest. 

Ye  that  have  toil'd  in  vain, 

Till  strength  and  hope  have  fled, 


REST   FOR   THE   HEAVY    LADEN.  235 

And   lavish'd   the   years   that   come   not 
again, 

For  that  which  is  not  bread  ; 
Ye  who  are  toiling  now, 

Weary  in  heart  and  limb, 
With  a  strength  each  day  more  low, 

And  a  hope  each  day  more  dim ; 
Weary  in  soul  and  spirit, 

Toiling  with  hearts  oppress' d, 
"  Come  to  Me,  all  that  labor, 

And  I  will  give  you  rest." 

Is  guilt  unpardon'd  there 

With  heavy  hand  and  strong, 
The  weight  in  the  air  of  measureless  fear, 

Or  of  hope  deferred  long  ? 
The  sorrow  which  freezeth  tears 

With  the  force  of  a  sudden  blow, 
The  long,  dull  pressure  of  weary  years, 

Bowing  you  silently  low  ? 


236  BBSI   FOR   T1IE    HEAVY   LADEN. 

Many  the  burdens  and  hard 

Wherewith  the  heart  is  press'd  : 

"  Come,  all  that  are  heavy  laden, 
And  I  will  give  you  rest." 

The  world  has  many  a  promise 

To  beguile  the  blithe  and  young  : 
But  to  you  the  world  is  honest. — 

It  has  ceased  to  promise  long. 
Wealth,  pleasures,  fame,  successes, 

The  world  has  store  of  these  ; — 
For  you  it  no  cure  professes, 

It  offers  you  no  ease. 
But  Christ  has  an  arm  almighty. 

And  a  balm  for  the  faintest  breast ; 
"  Come,  ye  that  are  heavy  laden. 

And  I  will  give  you  rest." 

Would  ye  fain,  among  the  slee; 
In  dust  your  tired  hearts  bow  ? 


REST   FOR   THE   HEAVY    LADEN.  287 

The  rest  He  gives  is  deeper, 

And  He  will  give  it  now. 
JSTo  dull,  oblivious  sleep 

In  the  lull  of  pain  repress'd, 
But  all  your  hearts  to  steep 

In  perfect  and  conscious  rest, — 
Rest  that  shall  make  you  strong 

To  serve  among  the  bless' d. 
"  Come,  all  that  are  heavy  laden, 

And  I  will  give  you  rest." 

The  rest  of  a  happy  child, 

Led  by  the  Father  on, 
Feeling  His  smile,  and  reconciled 

To  all  that  He  has  done  ; 
Of  one  who  can  meekly  bend 

'Neath  the  yoke  of  the  Lord  who  died ; 
Of  a  soldier  who  knows  how  the  fight  will  end 

With  a  Leader  true  and  tried  ; 


REST   FOR  Till:    HEATS    LADEN. 

The  rest  of  a  subject  heart. 

Of  its  best  desires  possess' d. 
"  Come,  ye  that  are  heavy  laden. 

And  I  will  give  you  rest.** 

Rest  from  sin's  crashing  debt, 

Ln  the  blood  which  Christ  has  shed ; 
From  the  pang  of  vain  regret, 

In  the  thought  that  1  te  has  led. 
Rest  in  His  perfect  love  ; 

Rest  in  His  tender  care : 
Rest  in  His  presence  for  you  above, 

In  His  presence  with  you  here. 
Rest  in  Him  slain  and  risen, 

The  Lamb,  and  the  Royal  Priest. 
"  Come,  all  that  are  heavy  laden, 

And  I  will  give  you  rest." 


"  IT  IS  I ;  BE  NOT  AFRAID." 

Matt.  xiv.  27. 

Toss'd  with  rough  winds,  and  faint  with  fear, 
Above  the  tempest,  soft  and  clear, 
What  still  small  accents  greet  mine  ear  ? — 
"  'Tis  I ;  be  not  afraid. 

"  'Tis  I,  who  washed  thy  spirit  white ; 
'Tis  I,  who  gave  thy  blind  eyes  sight; 
'Tis  I,  thy  Lord,  thy  Life,  thy  Light : 
'Tis  I ;  be  not  afraid, 

"  These  raging  winds,  this  surging  sea, 
Bear  not  a  breath  of  wrath  to  thee  ; 
That  storm  has  all  been  spent  on  Me  : 
'Tis  I :  be  not  afraid. 


240  ';  IT   IS    I  ;    BE    NOT    AFRAID." 

:i  This  bitter  cup.  I  drank  it  first  : 
To  thee,  it  is  no  draught  accurst ; 
The  hand  that  gives  it  thee  is  pierced  : 
'Tis  I;  be  not  afraid. 

"  Mine  eyes  are  watching  by  thy  bed, 
Mine  arms  are  underneath  thy  head, 
My  blessing  is  around  thee  shed  : 

'Tis  I :  be  not  afraid. 

••  When  on  the  other  side,  thy  feet 
Shall  rest  'mid  thousand  welcomes  sweet, 
One  well-known  voice  thy  heart  shall  greet 
'Tis  I ;  be  not  afraid." 

From  out  the  dazzling  majesty 
Gently  He  '11  lay  His  hand  on  thee. 
Saying,  "  Beloved,  lov'st  thou  Me  ? 
'Twas  not  in  vain  I  died  for  thee; 

'Tis  I:  be  not  afraid." 


GOD  IS  LOVE. 

PARAPHRASE    ON   PSALM   XXXVI. 
(Ver.  5-11.) 

Thy  mercies  link  heaven  with  earth. 
Like  the  clouds,  fall  and  gather  again  ; 

They  fill  all  the  heavens  like  light, 
They  freshen  all  earth  like  the  rain. 

Like  the  mountains  Thy  righteousness  stands, 
From  whose  stern  sides  the  living  stream  flows, 

Their  calm  brows  look  down  on  the  storms, 
And  the  plains  in  their  strong  arms  repose. 

Thy  judgments  are  fathomless  depths, 
Yet  the  deepest  in  blessings  abound ; 

No  chaos  or  darkness  is  there, — 

Love  fills  what  no  creature  can  sound. 

But  what  can  compare  with  Thy  love, 

So  boundless,  so  costly,  so  free  ? 

Thy  truth  and  Thy  justice  are  Thine ; 

Who  speak  of  Thy  love  speak  of  Thee  I 
21 


242  GOD    IS   LOVE. 

It  broods  like  the  mother-bird's  wing  : 
It  yearns  to  fold  all  to  its  breast  : 

And  all  who  will  listen  and  trust, 
And  gather  beneath  it,  are  bless' d. 

For  with  Thee  is  the  Fountain  of  Life, 
Thou  wilt  give  us  to  drink  of  it  soon, 

The  cold  waters  fresh  from  the  Rock, 
Ever  fresh  in  the  glow  of  Thy  noon. 

And  with  Thee  is  the  Eden  of  bliss, 
Its  sunshine  no  Fall  shall  eclipse, 

Its  rivers  flow  pure  from  Thy  throne, 

And  Thy  hand  lifts  the  draught  to  our  lips. 

Thou  wilt  lead  us  within  Thine  abode, 
The  feast  which  Thou  spreadest  to  share  ; 

We  shall  dwell  in  Thy  house  as  a  home. — 
The  heart  will  be  satisfied  there. 

Oh,  make  our  hearts  pure  to  heboid, 
And  light  in  Thy  light  we  shall  see ; 

For  to  gaze  and  still  gaze  on  Thy  love, 
0  our  God,  is  to  gaze  upon  Thee  ! 


"  SUMMER  IN  THE  SOUL." 

Autumn  was  on  the  earth, 
When  Summer  came  to  me, 

The  "Summer  in  the  soul," 
And  set  the  life-springs  free. 

Darkness  was  on  my  life, 

A  heavy  weight  of  night, 
When  the  Sun  arose  within, 

And  filled  my  heart  with  light. 

Ice  lay  upon  my  heart, 
Ice-fetters  still  and  strong, 

When  the  living  spring  gushed  forth, 
And  filled  my  soul  with  song. 


244  "SUMMER    IX    THE    SOUL." 

That  Summer  shall  not  fade, 
That  Sun,  it  setteth  never : 

The  fountain  in  my  heart 

Springs  full  and  fresh  for  ever. 

Since  I  have  learned  thy  love, 
My  Summer,  Lord,  Thou  art ; 

Summer  to  me,  and  Day, 

And  life-springs  in  my  heart. 

Since  I  have  learned  Thou  Art, 
Thou  livbst,  and  art  Love, 

Art  Love,  and  lovest  me, — 
Fearless  I  look  above ! 

Thy  blood  blots  out  my  sin, 
Thy  love  casts  out  my  fear ; 

Heaven  is  no  longer  far, 

Since  Thou,  its  Sun,  art  near. 


"SUMMER    IN   THE   SOUL."  245 

Here  Thou  abid'st  awhile 
Here  in  the  night  with  me  ; 

Soon  thou  wilt  take  me  home- 
Home  to  Thj  light,  with  Thee. 

Where  is  no  night,  nor  eyes 
Which  weeping  long  for  night ; 

Eyes  whence  Thou  wip'st  the  tears, 
Can  .bear  Thy  cloudless  light. 

Summer,  life-fountains,  Day, 

Within,  around,  above  ! 
Where  we  shall  see  Thy  face, 

Where  we  shall  feel  Thy  love  ! 
21* 


THE   CROSS. 

Never  further  than  Thy  Cross  ! 

Never  higher  than  Thy  feet  ! 
Here  earth's  precious  things  seem  dross, 

Here  earth's  bitter  tilings  grow  ^\veet. 

Gazing  thus;  our  sin  we  see, 

Learn  Thy  love  while  gazing  thus; 

Sin  which  laid  the  Cross  on  Thee. 
Love  which  bore  the  Cross  for  us. 

Here  we  learn  to  serve  and  give, 

And,  rejoicing,  self  deny  ; 
Here  we  gather  love  to  live. 

Here  we  gather  Btrength  to  die. 


THE   CROSS.  247 

Symbols  of  our  liberty 

And  our  service  here  unite, 
Captives  by  Thy  Cross  set  free, 

Soldiers  of  Thy  Cross  we  fight. 

Pressing  onwards  as  we  can 

Still  to  this  our  hearts  must  tend ; 

Where  our  earliest  hopes  began 
There  our  last  aspirings  end. 

Till  amid  the  hosts  of  light, 

We  in  Thee  redeemed,  complete, 
Through  Thy  Cross  made  pure  and  white, 

Cast  our  crowns  before  Thy  feet. 


THE  CHILD  ON  THE  JUDGMENT-SEAT. 

Where  hast  thou  been  toiling  all  day,  sweet  heart) 
That  thy  brow  is  burdened  and  sad? 

The  Master's  work  may  make  weary  feet, 
But  it  leaves  the  spirit  glad. 

Was  thy  garden  nipped  with  the  midnight  frosts, 
Or  scorched  with  the  mid-day  glare? 

Were  thy  vines  laid  low,  or  thy  lilies  crashed, 
That  thy  face  is  so  full  of  care? 

11  No  pleasant  garden-toils  were  mine, 

I  have  sate  on  the  judgment-seat, 
Where  the  Master  sits  at  eve,  and  calls 

The  children  aiound  his  feet." 


THE    CHILD    ON   THE   JUDGMENT- SEAT.       249 

How  earnest  thou  on  the  judgment-seat. 

Sweet  heart,  who  set  thee  there  ? 
'Tis  a  lonely  and  lofty  seat  for  thee, 

And  well  might  fill  thee  with  care. 

"I  climbed  on  the  judgment-seat  myself; 

I  have  sate  there  alone  all  day, 
For  it  grieved  me  to  see  the  children  around, 

Idling  their  life  away. 

"  They  wasted  the  Master's  precious  seed, 

They  wasted  the  precious  hours  ; 
They  trained  not  the  vines,  nor  gathered  the  fruits. 

And  they  trampled  the  sweet  meek  flowers/' 

And  what  didst  thou  on  the  judgment-seat, 
Sweet  heart,  what  didst  thou  there  ? 

Would  the  idlers  heed  thy  childish  voice  ? 
Did  the  garden  mend  for  thy  care  ! 


?50      THE   CHILD   ON   THE   JUDGMENT-SEAT. 

'•  Nay,  that  grieved  me  more  :  I  culled  and  I  cried, 

But  they  left  me  there  forlorn ; 
My  voice  was  weak,  and  they  heeded  not, 

Or  they  laughed  my  words  to  scorn." 

xVh  !   the  judgment-seat  was  not  for  thee, 

The  servants  were  not  thine : 
And  the  eyes  which  fix  the  praise  and  the  blame, 

See  farther  than  thine  or  mine. 

The  voice  that  shall  sound  there  at  eve,  sweet  heart, 

Will  not  strive  or  cry  to  be  heard  : 
It  will  hush  the  earth,  and  hush  the  hearts, 

And  none  will  resist  its  word. 

11  Should  I  see  the  Master's  treasures  lost, 

The  gifts  that  should  feed  his  poor, 
And  not  lift  my  voice,  (be  it  weak  as  it  may) 

And  not  be  grieved  sore  ?" 


THE    CHILD    ON   THE   JUGDMENT-SEAT.       251 

Wait  till  the  evening  falls,  sweet  heart, 

Wait  till  the  evening  falls ; 
The  Master  is  near,  and  knoweth  all  — 

Wait  till  the  Master  calls. 

But  how  fared  thy  garden-plot,  sweet  heart, 
Whilst  thou  sat'st  on  the  judgment-seat  ? 

Who  watered  thy  roses,  and  trained  thy  vines  ? 
And  kept  them  from  careless  feet  ? 

"  Nay,  that  is  saddest  of  all  to  me, 

That  is  saddest  of  all ! 
My  vines  are  trailing,  my  roses  are  parched, 

My  lilies  droop  and  fall." 

Go  back  to  thy  garden-plot,  sweet  heart ; 

Go  back  till  the  evening  falls, 
And  bind  thy  lilies,  and  train  thy  vines, 

Till  for  thee  the  Master  calls. 


2o2      THE   cniLD   ON  THE  JCDGMK 

Go !  make  thy  garden  fair  as  thou  ca: 

Thou  workest  never  alone  : 
Perchance  he  whose  plot  is  next  to  thine 

Will  see  it.  and  mend  his  own. 


And  the  next  may  copy  his.  sweet  heart, 

Till  all  grows  fair  and  sweet: 
And  when  the  Master  comes  at  eve, 

Happy  faces  his  coming  will  greet. 

-» 

Then  shall  thy  joy  be  full,  sweet  heart, 

In  the  garden  so  fair  to  see, 
In  the  Master's  words  of  praise  to  all, 
In  a  look  of  his  own  for  thee  ! 
August,  1865. 


TALITHA   CUMI! 

Tuuiha,  in  the  dialect  of  the  people,  a  terra  of  endearment 
used  towards  a  young  maiden." — Dean  Alford  on  "  St.  Mark's 
Gospel." 

;'  Talitha  Cumir 

The  mother  spoke; 
And  lightly  from  slumber 

The  child  awoke. 

*Jv  -TV  *TV  ^ 

In  sweet  dreams  folded 

At  dawn  of  day, 
As  in  dew  a  rosebud, 

The  maiden  lay. 

The  fair  lids  rounded 

In  calm  repose ; 

Long  lashes  shading 

The  cheek's  soft  rose. 
99 


254  TALITIIA    OUMI  ! 

The  lips  lialf  parted, 

As  though  she  smiled, 
When  with  kisses  the  mAher 


"  Talitha  cumiJ 
Damsel,  arise !" 

And  slowly  opened 
Those  happy  eyes. 


In  deep  sleep  burie.l, 
At  close  of  day, 

Silent  and  pallid 
The  maiden  lay. 

In  the  heart  no  beating, 
On  the  cheek  no  rose 

Placid  but  rigid 
The  pale  lips  close. 


TALITHA    CUMI  !  255 

No  gentle  heavings 

Of  even  breath. 
And  the  mother  sobbeth — 

"Not  sleep,  but  death  !" 

No  need  for  hushing 

Her  anguish  now  • 
No  wailings  will  trouble 

That  placid  brow. 

No  wild  lamentings 

The  mourners  make, 
No  tumult  of  minstrels 

That  sleep  can  break. 

Silence  those  death-wails 

Of  wild  despair  ! 
"  Not  dead,  but  sleeping  !" 

The  Life  is  there  ! 


256  TALITIIA    CUM  I  ! 

Gentle  His  accents, 

Mother,  as  thine: 
Yet  Galilee's  tempests 
Know  them  Divine. 

Kingly,  He  chaseth 
The  mocking  band ; 

Softly  He  toucheth 
The  clay-cold  hand. 

i{  Talitha  rin7U  ! 

Damsel,  arise  !" 
And  slowly  open 

Those  death-sealed  eyes. 


With  a  name  of  endearment, 

Tender  and  soft, 
(Her  mother  had  waked  her 

From  sleep  with  it  oft), 


TALITHA    CUMl!  257 

He  calls  ber  spirit 

Beyond  the  tombs, 
"  Talitha  cumi!" 

She  hears  and  comes. 

And  the  gates  of  Hades, 

The  gates  of  brass, 
Which  through  the  ages 

None  living  pass, 

Before  those  accents 

Quake  as  with  thunder, 
Quiver  like  aspens, 

And  part  asunder ; 

Open  like  flowers 

Touched  by  the  sun  ; 

Yet  through  the  wide  portals 

Passeth  but  one. 
22* 


258  TALITIIA    CUMI  ! 

Fearless  came  through  them 
The  soul  of  the  child. 

Saw  Him  who  called  her 
Knew  Him,  and  smiled. 


11  Talitha  cumi!" 
The  Saviour  spoke ; 

And  as  from  light  slumbers 
The  dead  awoke. 


April,  1862. 


GETHSEMANE. 

"Now  is  my  soul  exceeding  sorrowful,  even  unto  death." 
"  The  Lamb  of  God,  who  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world. 

Sin  hardens,  all  the  heart,  with  ice  encrusting, 
And  narrowing  its  current  evermore  ; 

Therefore,  0  Saviour,  loving,  pitying,  trusting, 
Thy  heart  no  ice  of  sin  e'er  crusted  o'er 

Was  tenderer  to  feel  each  pang  that  tried  thee 
Than  any  heart  that  ever  broke  or  bled  ; 

The  coward  love  that  followed  yet  denied  thee, 
The  selfish  fear  that  kept  far  off  or  fled. 

'*fe  ^  ^  -TV 

But  sin  must  ever  weaken  while  it  hardens, — 
Enfeebling  to  endure,  or  act,  or  dare, 

Till  nothing  save  the  balm  of  heavenly  pardons 
Can  nerve  the  heart  again  to  do  or  bear. 


260  GETHSKMAXE. 

Then  must  thy  heart  he  stronger  far  to  suffer 
Than  any  sinful  heart  that  ever  heat : 

And  if  thy  path  than  any  path  be  rougher, 

Yet  hast  thou  tenfold  strength  its  woes  to  meet. 

"What  tide  of  grief,    then,   Mightiest !    o'er   thee 
rushes, 

Thus  tasking  e'en  thy  patience  and  thy  trust  ? 
What  woe  beyond  all  woe  thy  spirit  crushes, 

Bowing  thee,  sinless,  spotless,  to  the  dust ! 

Martyrs  for  thee  have  gone  to  meet  their  anguish, 
Singing  glad  psalms  e'en  with  their  dying  breath  : 

Not  all  their  tortures  causing  once  to  languish 
The  hope  that  led  them  forth  for  thee  to  death. 

Thy  Stephen's  face  shone  like  a  happy  angel's. 

Uplifted  midst  the  stones  towards  thy  skies, 
Beaming  from  radiant  brows  thine  own  evangels, 

And  glowing  with  the  welcome  in  thine  eyes. 


GETHSEMANE.  261 

Yet  thou,  Lord,  liftest  not  thy  face  to  heaven, 

But  bo  west  prostrate  on  the  dewy  sod ; 
Thy  soul  exceeding  sorrowful,  with  death-pangs 
riven, 

Thy  sweat  of  anguish  as  great  drops  of  blood. 
» 
What  storm  is  this  in  which  thou  all  but  sinkest, 

Whose  arm  has  borne  so  many  through  the  flood  ? 
What  bitter  cup  is  this  from  which  thou  shrinkest, 

Strength  of  all  martyrs,  patient  Lamb  of  God  ? 

The  sin  of  all  the  world,  whose  throne  thou  claimest, 
Hadst  made  so  fair,  so  fallen,  loved  and  sought ; 

The  sin  of  all  thine  own,  to  whom  thou  earnest, 
Thou  earnest,  and  thine  own  received  thee  not ; 

The  sin  of  all  the  saved,  that  dying  blessed  Thee, 
Who  from  the  sting  of  death  hadst  set  them  free ; 

The  sin  of  all  thy  martyrs,  who  confessed  thee, 
And  died  rejoicing  that  they  went  to  thee ; 


262  OBTHSHMANB. 

Tl:e  sin  of  thine  apostle.  who  denied  thee, 
Cursing  with  perjured  oaths  as  he  denied  ; 

The  sin  of  those  who  torturing  deride  thee. 
And  of  thy  Stephen,  blessing  as  he  died. 

This  is  the  weight  of  agony  unspoken 

Which  thee,  0  Highest,  thus  so  low  hath  laid  ? 

The  curse  of  all  the  law  mankind  had  broken. 
The  sin  of  all  the  world  which  thou  hadst  made. 

Earth's  serried  woe  and  crime  in  one  compressing, 
Thou  buriest  all  within  thy  single  breast. 

And  changest  thus  our  every  curse  to  blessing, 
Giving  us  life  through  death,  in  labour  rest. 

May,  1862. 


THE  TWO  ACCUSATIONS. 

A  Cross  stands  black  against  the  last  pale  glow 
Of  that    dread    day    that    twice    was   veiled    m 

night ; 
The   form   that   quivered    there   when   noon    was 

high 
Rests  low  amidst  the  shrouds  and  spices  now, 
And  reverent  hands  have  wiped  that  thorn-crowned 

brow. 
But   where   it  bowed   at   noon,   death-dewed  and 

white, 
The  Roman's  accusation  meets  my  sight, 
Earth's  homage  rendered  in  her  own  despite, 
Proclaiming  in  three  tongues  thy  right  divine ! 


264  THE    TWO    ACCUSATIONS. 

Vet  as  I  gaze  my  heart  discovers  there 

Another  accusation  black  and  clear  : 

These  were  the  crimes   that  slew    Thee! — They 

are  mine  ! 
But  it  is  torn,  and  blotted  with  thy  blood ; 
No  more  a  sentence,  but  a  pardon  sealed  by  God. 

July,  1862. 


HOW  DOTH  DEATH  SPEAK  OF  OUR 
BELOVED  ? 

"  The  rain  that  falls  upon  the  height, 
Too  gently  to  be  called  delight, 
In  the  dark  valley  reappears 
As  a  v/ild  cataract  of  tears  ; 
And  love  in  life  shall  strive  to  see 
Sometimes,  what  love  in  death  would  be." 
Coventry  Patmore's  "  Angel  in  the  House.1' 

How  doth  death  speak  of  our  beloved, 

When  it  has  laid  them  low  ; 
When  it  has  set  its  hallowing  touch 

On  speechless  lip  and  brow  ? 


It  clothes  their  every  gift  and  grace 

With  radiance  from  the  holiest  place, 

With  light  as  from  an  angel's  face  ; 
23 


26G    HOW  DOTH  DEATH  SPEAK  OF  OUR  BELOVED  ? 

Recalling  with  resistless  force, 

And  tracing  to  their  hidden  sour 

Deeds  scarcely  noticed  in  their  course, — 

This  little,  loving,  fond  device. 

That  daily  act  of  sacrifice. 

Of  which  too  late  we  learn  the  price; 

Opening  our  weeping  eyes  to  trace 
Simple  unnoticed  kindnesses, 
Forgotten  tones  of  tenderness. 

Which  evermore  to  us  must  be 
Sacred  as  hymns  in  infancy, 
Learned  listening  at  a  mother's  knee. 


- 


Thus  doth  death  speak  of  our  beloved. 

When  it  has  laid  them  low  ; 
Then  let  love  antedate  the  work  of  death, 

And  do  this  now. 


HOW  DOTH  DEATH  SPEAK  OF  OUR  BELOVED  ?    267 

How  doth  death  speak  of  our  beloved, 

When  it  has  laid  them  low  ; 
"When  it  has  set  its  hallowing  touch 

On  speechless  lip  and  brow  ? 

It  sweeps  their  faults  with  heavy  hand, 
As  sweeps  the  sea  the  trampled  sand, 
Till  scarce  the  faintest  print  is  scanned. 

It  shows  how  such  a  vexing  deed 
Was  but  a  generous  nature's  weed, 
Or  some  choice  virtue  run  to  seed ; 

How  that  small  fretting  fretfulness 
Was  but  love's  over-anxiousness, 
Which  had  not  been  had  love  been  less ; 

This  failing  at  which  we  repined, 
But  the  dim  shade  of  day  declined, 
Which  should  hare  made  us  doubly  kind. 


268    HOW  DOTH  DEATH  SPEAK  OF  OUR  BELOVED? 

Thus  doth  death  speak  of  our  beloved, 

When  it  has  laid  them  low  : 
Then  let  love  antedate  the  work  of  death. 

And  do  this  now. 


How  doth  death  speak  of  our  beloved, 
When  it  has  laid  them  low  : 

When  it  has  set  its  hallowing  touch 
On  speechless  lip  and  brow  ? 

It  takes  each  failing  on  our  part, 
And  brands  it  in  upon  the  heart, 
With  caustic  power  and  cruel  art. 


The  small  neglect  that  may  have  pained. 
A  giant  stature  will  have  gained. 
When  it  can  never  be  explained  ; 


HOW  DOTH  DEATH  SPEAK  OF  OUR  BELOVED  ?    269 

The  little  service  which  had  proved 
How  tenderly  we  watched  and  loved, 
And  those  mute  lips  to  glad  smiles  moved ; 

The  little  gift  from  out  our  store, 
Which  might  have  cheered  some  cheerless  hour, 
When  they  with  earth's  poor  needs  were  poor. 
But  never  will  be  needed  more  ! 


It  shows  our  faults  like  fires  at  night, 
It  sweeps  their  failings  out  of  sight ; 
It  clothes  their  good  in  heavenly  light. 

0  Christ,  our  life,  foredate  the  work  of  death, 

And  do  this  now ; 
Thou,  who  art  love,  thus  hallow  our  beloved  !- 

Not  death,  but  Thou  ! 

June,  1862. 

23* 


IN  MEMORY  OF  THE  REV.  J.  D.  BURNS. 

Why  do  wo  moan,  and  wonderingly  complain, 
And  murmur,   i:  0  mysterious  ways  of  God 

When  the  fine  gold  whence  beams  His  image  plain 
Is  stored  within  His  innermost  abode? 

It  were  mysterious  if  the  Master's  hand 

Lavished  its  skill  some  choice  work  to  prepare, 

And  then,  unfinished,  cast  it  on  the  strand 
To  perish  incomplete  and  broken  there. 

But  when  the  last  completing  touch  is  given, 
The  master-touch  that  all  the  rest  inspires, 

And  the  rich  colours  and  the  gold  of  heaven, — 
Enamelled  in  tho  last  of  many  fires, — 


IN   MEMORY    OF   THE    REV.    J.    D.    BURNS.    271 

Shine  forth  at  length  to  full  perfection  wrought, 
A  vessel  meet  the  Master's  House  to.  grace, 

A  picture  breathing  with  the  Master's  thought, 
A  portrait  beaming  back  the  Master's  Face  ; — 

What  wonder  if  His  treasure  thence  He  take, 
Where  earthly  damps  the  burnished  gold  might 
dim, 

Where  careless  hands  the  gracious  form  might  break 
— Take  to  the  Father's  House,  within,  with  Him  ? 

What  wonder  when  the  training  of  the  schools 
Has  done  such  work  as  schools  and  lessons  can ; 

When  through  the  discipline  of  tasks  and  rules 
The  boy  compacts,  expands  into  the  man, — 

If  to  the  Field  the  Father  bids  him  come, 

Where  manhood's  earnest  standards  are  unfurled? 

Is  not  the  school  an  exile  from  the  home  ? 
Is  not  the  school  the  threshold  of  a  w7orld  ? 


1!72    IX    MEMORY    OF   TIIE    REV.    J.    D.    BURNS. 


"Who  wonders,  -when  the  finished  gem  is  borne 
Its  light  upon  the  sovereign's  brow  to  yield  ! 

Who  would  not  wonder  if  the  ripened  corn 
Were  left  to  perish  on  the  harvest-field  ? 

Yet  we  who  wander  o'er  the  leafless  land. 

Where  golden  seas  waved  musical  and  fair  ■ 
On  us  falls  heavily,  as  thus  we  stand, 

The  blank  and  silence  of  the  falling  year. 

Still  at  the  school,  we  miss  the  brother's  eye, 
Whose  working  near  us  made  us  work  our  ] 

Whose  generous  smile  still  drew  our  aims  on 

Whose  ripe  achievement  shamed  self-soothing  rest. 

We  mourn,  "  0  God  !  we  needed  him  so  much  ! 

Here  are  so  many  tangling  coils  to  loose, 
So  many  hearts  that  need  the  tenderest  touch. 

So  few  hands  trained  like  his  to  finest  use  ! 


IN  MEMORY  OF  THE  REV.  J.  D.  BURNS.  273 

"  And  hast  Thou  thus  through  blows  and  fires," 

we  sigh, 
"  And  subtlest  touches  shaped  this  instrument 
For  choicest  work,  only  to  rest  on  high  ?" 
But  swift  the  answer  smites  our  discontent. 

"This  earth  is  but  for  learning  and  for  training, 
Earth's  highest  wTork  but  such  as  children  do, 

The  workmen  here  their  priceless  skill  are  gaining, 
The  true  life-work  is  yonder,  out  of  view." 

Lord,  we  would  bow,  while  faith  our  grief  controls, 
And  thank  Thee  for  the  liberating  blow, 

Which  breaks  these  chains  wherewith   we  cramp 
our  souls 
To  little  rounded  dreams  of  life  below  ; — 

Which  shows  this  life  doth  but  our  life  begin, 
Is  but  outside,  the  porch  of  the  Abode, 

And  death  the  going  home,  the  entering  in, 
The  stepping  forth  on  the  wide  world  of  God. 


IT  IS  NO  DREAM. 

FOR  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THEIR  ONLY  BOY. 

Was  it  a  dream?  such  gladness  with  it  bringing, 
That  life  whose  dawn   with   such  deep  jo 
hailed,  — 
Those  loving  baby  arms  so  fondly  clinging, — 
Those  eyes  whose  smiles  so  soon  in  death  were 
veiled  ? 

Adas  !  no  dream  had  left  such  life-long  traces, 
Such  silence  as  that  little  voice  has  left. — 

The  blank  no  other  presence  e'er  replaces  : 
It  is  no  dream  which  leaves  us  thus  bereft. 

It  is  no  dream  !     Thy  spirit  dieth  never  ! 

That  little  star  through  endless  time  shall  beam  : 
Heaven  shall  be  brighter  for  thy  light  for  ev.  r. 

And  gladder  for  thy  voice.     It  is  no  droam  ! 


IT  IS  NO   DREAM.  275 

It  is  no  dream  !     By  God  that  gift  was  given  ; 

Man  may  repent  his  gifts  ;  God  deals  not  thus. 
A  new  immortal  joy  is  ours  in  heaven, 

And  He  who  gave  will  give  thee  back  to  us. 

It  is  no  dream,  that  Paradise  immortal, 

Where  He  who  blessed  the  babes  has  welcomed 
thee, 

Fearless  the  infants  pass  its  solemn  portal, 
Borne  in  His  arms,  His  face  alone  they  see. 

Yet,  Father !  who,  for  us,  m  love  most  tender, 
Didst  yield  to  death  Thy  Son,  Thine  only  Son. 

Thou  knowest  all  the  cost  of  such  surrender, 
Help  us  to  say  with  Him,  Thy  will  be  done ; 

Till  looking  back,  with  this  our  child  beside  us, 
On  all  the  way  through  which   our   feet  were 
brought ; 

We  sing,  "It  was  no  dream  by  which  God  tried  us, 
No  dream  the  weight  of  glory  it  has  wrought  !" 


